


Gift Wrapped

by Defira



Series: Mage Dominion [3]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Trapped, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-25 03:06:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel request to Over My Dead Body, featuring Bethany Hawke and Knight Captain Cullen. Bethany and Cullen meet briefly at the end of OMDB and sparks fly immediately. Since Bethany is never going to pursue anything with a Templar, it's up to her dearest friends to ensure that the two of them come to terms with their mutual attraction... even if it means locking them in a room together until they admit their feelings to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bethany groaned; she felt vaguely uncomfortable, as if she’d been lying in the same position for too long, and her body had gone painfully numb as a result. Her head was pounding. Her hand was dead, every finger cold and unfeeling beneath her forehead. She shifted in the hope it would send blood back to her neglected limbs, half rolling onto her side- and paused. That wasn’t an unpleasantly thin pillow she had her face smooshed into, it was a _carpet_.

Gamlen’s house didn’t have carpet. It barely even seemed to have floorboards most days; it was just dirt, dirt and more dirt. Yet she could most definitely feel the soft threads of something soft and woollen tickling at her face, something that felt a great deal more sensuous than anything she owned in her meagre collection of clothing.

 _What in the Void?_ She cracked open an eye, instantly regretting it as the light ricocheted around inside her skull. She moaned again and flopped back against the carpet. The brief flash she’d had before her brain had screamed out at the invasive brightness showed her to be lying in the centre of a well-furnished room, facing towards a grand stone fireplace that burned merrily. She hadn’t had time to take in details, but she’d thought she seen a bookshelf, and perhaps some kind a portrait- there was a splash of colour of the wall? – and really, all it told her was that she was somewhere that was _not_ home and was _not_ the Hanged Man.

She really should be more concerned about that, but her head ached far too much for incidentals like ‘ _where in the Void am I?_ ’ to be of much help.

What was _wrong_ with her? She felt like she’d downed seven or eight pints of the Man’s worst, not that she’d ever tried that before but she’d seen the ill effects on her friends. She scrambled through her brain, trying to find a memory that might explain her wretched state. She remembered going to the Hanged Man alone- Garrett was busy pretending he wasn’t sneaking off to see Anders again- and she remembered settling in for the evening with Aveline and Isabela since everyone else was indisposed…

She remembered Isabela plying her with drinks, smiling coyly at her in that way that was so confusing; she remembered Aveline frowning and taking a drink away from her, as if concerned about her level of inebriation. But then the drink had been back in front of her, as if it hadn’t been taken away, and maybe she’d just imagined that? Maybe Aveline had simply expressed her displeasure and hadn’t actually made it as far as confiscating…

She groaned at the thumping in her head and rolled onto her back, making a pleased sort of murmur at the feel of the carpet against her skin. It was soft and luxurious, decadent in a way that made her want to purr like a cat. It was a pleasant counter balance to the ache in her head, the sensual rub against her bare skin making her feel deliciously shivery. A few seconds after that thought flitted through her mind, another reared its ugly head causing her to still instantly.

 _Why can I feel the carpet if I’m wearing clothes-_

Her eyes ripped open at the same time that a voice came from somewhere behind her.

“I see you’re awake.” The scorn and seething displeasure in that voice made her whimper in alarm, a frantic sound that grew in volume as she realised she was lying on the floor in nothing but her undergarments. In a strange room. With someone who sounded pissed as the Void. “If it’s not _too_ much trouble, would you care to explain what this contemptible prank is exactly? And perhaps untie me so I can _throttle you._ ”

Bethany came surging to her feet, too panicked to care about her state of undress- or perhaps too panicked _because_ of her partial nudity. The pain in her head didn’t seem nearly so important now, as she stared wildly around the opulent room, her gaze coming to rest on-

A four poster bed, with rich burgundy hangings, just the kind of bed that came to mind when one thought of illicit affairs and heady, passionate sweat soaked afternoons drenched with moans and sobs of pleasure…

… and in the middle of that bed, his wrists chained to the posts as if he were some sacrificial offering, was Knight Captain Cullen. Naked as the day he was born, except for an elaborate red bow over his lap.

And murder in his eyes.

Cullen hissed out an angry breath at the sight of her at the same time that Bethany shrieked in alarm and spun in place, trying to find somewhere to hide. Her hands couldn’t cover _anything_. “Bethany Hawke,” he said, laughing nastily, “I should have known. You and your disparate companions were far too out of place in the Chantry. Were you planning this even then? Looking for a victim?”

The scathing vitriol bit into her, and she flinched; for a moment she almost forgot how completely nearly naked she was, with a completely naked man. “What? I, no, I… no! No, this is… no!”

He stared coldly at her. “Eloquent. I can only hope you thought this harebrained scheme out as carefully as that sentence.” When she only stared in dumbstruck horror at him, he sneered. “Enjoying what you see?”

It snapped her out of her frozen panic and she spun away from him, a mildly hysterical moan breaking from her. Escape, she needed an escape, _why wasn’t she wearing any damn clothes?_ She continued to dance on the spot, flustered and desperate and searching the room for any kind of door or window or hiding place or _there!_ A chair, a lounge of some type! She lunged for it, wrenching it to face away from the bed and diving face first into the cushions. She was trembling, almost vibrating from the force of the adrenalin and the emotions swamping her and _oh Maker she was locked in a room with a naked Templar._ And not just any Templar. _Cullen._

Cullen, who’d smiled secretly at her during the Chant three nights ago; Cullen, with the piercing, sombre eyes and the laugh lines at the corners of his mouth; Cullen, who’d brushed a kiss over her knuckles and made her wish desperately that he hadn’t been wearing his gloves. A Templar who’d seemed genuinely _nice_ , like there was a person behind the suit of armour, and it didn’t hurt at all that he was clearly the most gorgeous male specimen the Maker had ever seen fit to bless women with. She’d been all a-tizzy after that first meeting, anticipating more lingering stares during the evening Chant, wondering what he thought of her, wondering how he _really_ felt about mages, wondering whether he wanted-

“ _Bethany._ ” The word was snapped out, as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Her momentary lapse into fantasy was cut short at his tone, dragging her abruptly back to the present- half naked in a room with a naked Templar. “While I respect your modesty, _I_ do _not_ have the recourse of hiding open to me. I would appreciate it if you ended this mockery immediately. Out of a desire to avoid having this humiliating episode investigated, I will not involve the guard if you let me go right now.”

She peeked over the back of the couch, nearly cringing when she saw the fury in his eyes. “I had nothing to do with this,” she whispered, unable to keep her eyes on his face. Maker, he was just... perfect. The cut of his jaw, the strain in his arms as he tugged at the chains, the exquisite detail in the muscles of his stomach-

“Miss Hawke.” The way he hissed her name made something wilt inside of her. Her gaze snapped back to his, and she nearly whimpered out loud at the disdain she saw there. “Please be assured I am not flattered by your attempts at… whatever this is. A poorly planned seduction. A kidnapping. I don’t know and I don’t care. Let me go.”

Bethany bit her lip and forced herself not to duck down behind the couch. “I swear to you, messere, this was not my plan.”

Something snapped within him; she saw it in his expression, his attempts to remain civil at an end. “You expect me to _believe_ you are not responsible for this?” he snarled, jerking fiercely at the bindings as the bed creaked in protest.

His anger was terrifying, and she cowered further behind the chair. Maker, she was certain for a moment that those chains were about to snap. “I swear by the prophet herself! I had nothing to do with this, nothing at all!”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth!” Oh Maker, what if he got free? What would he do to her then? “Look, why would I be trapped in here with you, without my clothes? I was unconscious on the floor five minutes ago; are you suggesting I knocked myself out so it would look more convincing?” A thought crossed her mind and she frowned at him. “Actually, how did you end up here? Like… that.”

He scowled and looked away from her. “I’m not rightly sure. I was called to the Chantry on a late night request and when I got there, the Knight Lieutenant claimed not to have summoned me. I must have been attacked on the way back to the docks, because I woke up here… unfortunately.”

The way he spat ‘ _unfortunately_ ’ jarred her. So, he counted it as unfortunate to be locked in a room with her, did he? It was enough to ruffle her feathers and she straightened and came off the chair before she realised she was doing it. She nearly lunged back into the safety of the cushions and out of sight, but what did it matter? He was clearly vastly unhappy with her right now… and distinctly uninterested. Maker, should she be insulted by that? Was she that unappealing that he couldn’t manage anything more than a sneer?

She sighed, puffing upwards to blow her fringe away from her eyes, abruptly unhappy. There was a gorgeous, naked Templar in front of her, and some part of her knew she should be feeling coy and maidenly, or more embarrassed, or wondered whether she should try to use this to her advantage but… right now she was beginning to feel grumpy, emotions wearing on her far too quickly. Right now all she wanted was to get out of here.

He was still staring determinedly at the far wall, so she spun in a slow circle taking in the whole room. Her heart sank as she realised that, not only were there no windows, there was also no door. How did that even work? A flicker of unease began to spark inside of her as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

Maker she was trapped in a room with a Templar. And not just any Templar, but the Knight Captain himself. What if he could tell she was a mage, just from prolonged exposure to her? Cold fear sank its teeth into her, and she rubbed her arms over her bare stomach as she slowly took in the room again.

“There is no obvious way out.” His voice was flat with scorn. She glanced over her shoulder, but he still wasn’t looking at her. “I have already assessed the room while you were unconscious. There are no exits.”

His tone irked her. “Well, I’m sure you did a marvellous job from the safety of the bed,” she snapped, “but I’ll take a moment to look for myself thank you Captain. It’s not that I don’t trust your judgement… I _hope_ you’ll understand.”

She began to feel along the wall panels, looking for a crack or a sign that a secret door may be hidden in the embellished woodwork. She frowned and tried to reach for the higher sections, reaching up on tiptoes.

“Miss Hawke.”

She ignored him, working her way along the wall methodically, trying to find something-

“Miss Hawke!”

There was something desperate in his voice, enough to make her roll her eyes and turn back to him. “ _What_ , Captain?” She stilled instantly at the look in his eyes, the heat in his gaze as he stared at her, his hands clenched into fists. His eyes were most definitely _not_ on her face. “Captain?”

Oh Maker, had he been staring at her ass while she reached up on her toes, displaying herself for him to ogle at?

He snapped back to himself, his face flushing guiltily. “My apologies,” he said, shifting awkwardly on the bed. “I was going to say there isn’t much point. I suspect that wherever we are, we are not meant to find our own way from here.”

Flustered by his momentary spark of interest, Bethany didn’t know whether to preen or cover herself. “Well, what do you suggest then, Captain? It’s not like I can just wave my hand and set you free of the chains. We need to work something out.”

His face went red and he looked away, scowling. “There is a key,” he said gruffly.

Bethany brightened immediately. If there was a key, she could get him out of the manacles, and then he wouldn’t be splayed out before her like her very own Templar for tasting and taunting. And then he could help her find a way to get out of this ridiculous room; she could find her clothes and run home as fast as she could and forget that this mortifying, horrifying, sexy encounter ever took place. “How do you know there’s a key? Have you seen it?” She crept a little closer to the bed, scanning the side tables and the floor around hoping to spot it.

“I _haven’t_ seen it,” he bit out, refusing to look anywhere near her.

His recalcitrance was perplexing. “Well, how do you know there’s a key at all? Where is it?”

She saw him tense, saw his jaw tighten as he swallowed uncomfortably. His fingers flexed around the manacles, as if he had a fierce desire to simply rip them free. “It is… on my person.”

He said it so rigidly that for a moment she frowned, eyes skittering over him. “But there’s nothing-” Her eyes landed on the bright red bow, artfully positioned over his lap so as not to expose anything unseemly. It was the only part of his body that wasn’t immediately visible.

“There’s no need to ogle, Miss Hawke,” he snapped, his face bright red.

Bethany lurched away from the bed, spinning away and pressing her hands to her now burning face. Maker! “I’m not… I swear I’m not… you were looking at my ass before, so what does it matter!”

He looked like he was gritting his teeth fiercely enough to shatter his teeth. “I was _not_ looking at... I _merely_ turned around to inform you that you were wasting your time, and I didn’t get your attention immediately.”

“So you just enjoyed the view?”

“I’m a _man_ , Bethany,” he snarled, the chains going taut for a moment. “What do you want me to say? The armour I wear doesn’t make me any less susceptible to the sight of a woman’s curves. You were practically taunting me, stretching out like that.”

It was like being slapped. “How _dare_ you!” she shrieked, looming in close and stabbing her finger into his bare chest. “Don’t you dare try to say that I’m responsible for your actions! You might be a man, but you certainly aren’t a gentleman!”

There was a moment of heavy breathing, anger pulsing through both of them, before Bethany realised just how dangerously close she’d come to him. She straightened and took a step away from the bed again, tucking her hair away from her face so that her hands had something to do. “Clearly neither of us is comfortable with this situation,” she said, trying to sound calm and adult. She could do that. “So we’ll just have to work together and be professional about this and we’ll see if we can get out of this.”

“Clearly,” he said snidely. “But I suppose that’s easy for you to suggest, given that you are the one still with some shred of dignity remaining. I, however, remain trussed up and embellished like a sacrifice to some pagan god. So you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t share your peace of mind.”

She counted backwards from ten, breathing through her nose. The Knight Captain had never struck her as a petulant man, but this was going to become frustrating quickly. “So the key is-”

“Yes.” And he did not sound pleased about it in the slightest.

She couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “You couldn’t just… wriggle a little?” she whispered. “Just so that it could fall into the bed, and I could try and-”

“The key is tied to me,” he snapped, his head flopping back against the pillows; there were lines of frustration around his eyes, his jaw so tight that she could see the tension in his neck from here.

She swallowed. Twice. “Tied… to you?”

“What do you _want_ me to say, Bethany?” He all but shouted her name, sending a sudden thrill through her at the sound of it voiced with such… desperation. “ _Yes_ , there is a key. _Yes_ , it is tied to me. And _yes_ , I can’t exactly reach it myself so you’re going to have to get it.”

Maker.

 _I’m going to kill Isabela._

It had to be the pirate. Who else would be this brazen, to kidnap the Knight Captain himself, strip him naked and tie a key to his… well, to _that?_

Her face felt like it was about to burst into flames, and she turned away from him as she pressed her palms to her cheeks. _Oh Maker, oh Maker, oh Maker…_ “So, do you, um, want me to… try? To, um, get the key I mean?”

“You’re going to have to if we’re to have any hope of getting out of here.” He said it from between gritted teeth, and when she glanced over her shoulder at him he was staring quite pointedly at the velvet canopy instead of at her. He seemed to feel her eyes on him, for his gaze flickered to her and he scowled, despite the crimson in his cheeks. “Mark my words, Miss Hawke, if even a word of this escapes from this room, I will-”

“What, you think I’ll merrily spread rumours of being naked with the Knight Captain and manhandling him?” Blessed Andraste, why did the thought of it send heat shooting through her belly, making her press her thighs together as surreptitiously as possible? If he noticed her discomfort, she was quite certain she would die of embarrassment. “Because that certainly won’t give me the wrong sort of reputation at all, now, will it? What do you take me for, Captain? I’m not some cheap doxy who-”

“Alright, alright!” He made a gesture with his hands that was clearly supposed to be placating, but as they were pinned to the posts of the bed it merely looked ridiculous. He took a deep breath and muttered something under his breath that sounded distinctly like _Maker give me strength_. “I apologise, Miss Hawke. I was just… I would prefer to have this whole affair over and forgotten as quickly as possible. Please- would you retrieve the key for me?”

“I…” Oh Maker, there was nothing she could say to that. Nothing, except for “Of course, Captain.”

He let out a short, sharp laugh that sounded anything but happy. “I think that, given the circumstances, it would be best if you called me Cullen. There’s no point standing on formality when you have to… well, _that_.”

It should have been hilarious, the way they both stuttered to a halt before admitting it aloud, and if it had been anyone else Bethany would have been cackling gleefully. Right now she wasn’t sure if she was terrified or aroused or humiliated. Probably a combination of all three; certainly not completely aroused. Not that at all. “Then you must call me Bethany.”

“Bethany,” he said, and she shivered, still not trusting herself entirely to face him. He sounded weary, and he sounded strained, and he still sounded angry, but _Maker_ the sound of her name on his lips _did_ things to her. There was a long pause, a sort of awkward precipice with neither of them prepared to actually prompt things into motion, before Cullen folded first and said uncomfortably “Perhaps we could get this over and done with?”

The naked Templar behind her wanted her to hurry up and touch him. She couldn’t help it- she giggled. And it sounded slightly hysterical and _oh Maker_ , she had to _touch Cullen…_

“Bethany,” he growled, shifting uneasily on the bed. “It hardly sets my mind at ease when you do _that_.”

She bit her lip, trying to contain herself; the joke bubbled up from within her and she found herself speaking before she could stop herself. “Well, if it’s at all helpful, I’ve always heard in stressful situations that it helps to imagine other people naked or in their undergarments. So, just imagine me… oh wait, no, I’m already in my undergarments. Not much help at all, I’m afraid.”

She turned around then, moving as if to sit beside his hip so that she could retrieve the key, but froze when she saw the expression on his face.

There was something wild in his eyes, something desperate and animalistic and pained, his jaw set fiercely as he stared at her. She found herself quite unable to breathe under the weight of his gaze, frozen like a deer trapped in a hunter’s sight.

His hands were clenched into fists; his whole body radiated tension that had nothing to do with anger. “Tell me, Bethany,” he said slowly, his words sharp and precise, “how exactly I’m to find it relaxing to imagine you naked while you fondle my cock?”


	2. Chapter 2

She stumbled back a step, the ache between her thighs blossoming into a wildfire, heat and need sizzling through her veins until it was all she could do not to moan. Oh Maker, she wanted to. She wanted to touch him, for reasons that had nothing to do with escaping and everything to do with putting that velvet lined bed to good use. He was just _there_ , splayed out ready for her to play and explore, ready for her to summon the courage to simply _touch_ him and see where this terrible prank could lead to and-

“You’re staring, Bethany.” The words were not spat out with quite so much contempt as he might have hoped. If anything, after his first outburst he now sounded embarrassed, his eyes flickering around the room as if hunting frantically for an escape. Looking everywhere, except for at her.

“Well, where am I supposed to look?” she snapped, aroused and irritated in equal measures. He’d put such vivid imagery into her head, and then snarled at her when she’d stopped to ponder such wickedness? That was hardly fair. “I need to get the key; regardless of how you view this arrangement, I need to touch you. So we’ll just have to be mature about this, and-”

He let out a sound of frustration. “It’s not going to be that simple, Bethany!” His eyes landed on her briefly and then skittered away again; he scowled as his cheeks coloured anew. “You can’t just _say_ something like that to a man, about being naked and trying to make it into a joke. We just can’t… I _can’t_ be detached about this, Bethany. I don’t even think it’s a good idea for you to come near me right now.”

Confused, Bethany of course did the opposite, one knee coming up to rest on the bed beside his hip, the sinking of the mattress pushing her perilously close to him, bare skin to bare skin. She could feel the heat radiating from him and she was both thrilled and awed to realise she’d never been so close to another human being before. It was a heady feeling. “Cullen, you have nothing to fear from me- I’m not going to tell anyone about this. Your reputation will be intact.”

He shifted away jerkily, almost recoiling from her. The warmth of him disappeared, her skin cooling without him there to lean in towards. The damnable bow stayed frustratingly in place. “Bethany, you _cannot_ be that dense. This has nothing to do with my concern for my reputation and everything to do with the fact that I can’t _not_ be aroused by a beautiful woman touching me intimately.”

The confession was so forthright, and so completely not what she was expecting, that she couldn’t help but gape for a moment. And then of course her brain fixated on entirely the wrong part of his statement. “You think I’m beautiful?”

He groaned, his head falling against his chest. “ _Maker_ , Bethany, why do you need to make this so much harder than it-”

“It’s fine, no, I’m sorry!” She reached out a hand, meaning to comfort him, and then realised she had no idea where to put it. There wasn’t really anywhere appropriate for her to lay her hand when he was naked and chained to a bed and only just made modest by the addition of elaborately curled ribbons. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, um, upset you? Is that the right apology? I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

He snorted, a sound that could have been a laugh in other circumstances and now just seemed half crazed. “Right now anger is the last thing on my mind. Frustration, definitely, and both kinds at that, but not anger.”

She stilled. “You… you mean… you are-”

“ _Yes_ ,” he forced out, sounding exceedingly embarrassed.

“Right now?”

“Maker, Bethany, do you really _want_ me to say it? _Yes_ , right now! That’s why I’m not really all that keen on you retrieving the key right now!”

Her eyes darted briefly to the bow on his lap; she couldn’t help it. “You… you can trust me Cullen. I won’t, um, do anything untoward.”

He barked out a laugh. “All well and good, Miss Hawke, but I don’t trust _myself_ right now. If you touch me now, I don’t think I can… I… I have no way of guaranteeing I will behave in a manner befitting a gentleman.”

Bethany bit her lip. That sounded… promising. “I’ll be quick about it. I promise, you’ll hardly notice.”

For the first time in several minutes, he finally looked at her. Disbelief was written across his face. “Forgive my scepticism, Bethany, but even our brief acquaintance is enough for me to know you have no experience with naked men whatsoever.”

Her face burned with mortification. “You don’t know that for sure!” _Oh Maker, am I that inept? Is it written across my forehead in bright, glowing letters?_ “You don’t know anything about my experiences!”

He fixed her with a flat stare. “I can guess.”

Something about his tone, so patronising and assumptive, made her shoulders straighten and her spine turn to steel. She was a Hawke, dammit; she might not have been as intimidating or forcefully charismatic as her brother, but she could prove herself… maybe.

Possibly.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, trying to look unaffected by his words. “Well, then, isn’t it good that I’m not here to gain experience with a naked man? I have no interest in touching or petting or-” She searched desperately for some other vaguely dirty description that Isabela had used at some point, “-stroking or anything like that.”

“Bethany,” he snapped, his arms straining against the bindings. She had to wonder if he even realised he was doing it.

“I just… I won’t look. It’s fine, I can do this without looking. I’m just grabbing the key, after all. It’s not like I need to see what I’m doing. It’s not like I’m interested in learning to find the right rhythm or pressure or-”

“ _Bethany_ ,” he growled, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

“It’s fine, Cullen, I can do this!” _I absolutely can’t do this. Blessed Andraste, what am I doing? I’m winding up a naked Templar just before I’m about to grope him. I don’t think there’s a more effective way for a mage to get caught._

Before he could object she climbed fully onto the bed and moved to straddle his legs. Where this momentary surge of courage had come from, she had no idea, but the moment her skin came into contact with his, the inside of her thighs brushing against him, it sizzled through her blood like a crack of lightning and vanished.

Oh Maker, skin to skin contact… the heat of two bodies, the knowledge that she could reach out and touch any part of him… her courage vanished, leaving her frozen above him, kneeling astride him as she struggled to rein in the wild response of her body. Desperation, keening hungry aching want that burned within her like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The wetness between her thighs was astonishing, so hot and damp and _ohhh_ , she just wanted to press herself down against his leg, to see if the touch of his body would bring her relief or only greater pleasurable agony.

She heard his sharp intake of breath and tried to not swallow noisily. Her hands were shaking; she clenched them momentarily against her thighs, staring fixedly at the crumbled sheets beneath her knee so that she didn’t glance back at him to see if the he was watching her. And so that she didn’t glance down and see _him_.

“Bethany,” he rasped, his voice broken and desperate and just as needy as she felt herself without trying to voice it aloud, “ _what are you doing?_ ”

She bit into her lip, nearly moaning at the way his eyes fixated on her mouth as she did so. “I’m just getting the key,” she whispered, her confidence evaporating as the magnitude of what she was about to do hit her.

Before her courage could desert her entirely, she slid her hand beneath the bow.

Cullen let out a panicked groan, hips jerking upwards. Bethany slid her free hand over his stomach, steadying herself so as not to lose her seat. The tension in the muscles beneath her hand was intoxicating; she was not accustomed to hard angles and unyielding flesh, and his masculine build was so new and exciting that for a moment she lost herself. She stared at her hand, pale and soft and delicate against the flat plane of his stomach, fascinated by the comparison.

When he tried to dislodge her a second time she came back to herself; she shushed him, absently running her fingers in a lazy circle across his belly even as she returned to her original task. Her other hand was resting at the top of his thigh, close to but not touching his cock. She wasn’t so brazen that she could merrily grab at his manhood so easily, and she was trembling as she traced the line of his hip.

“Just calm down, Cullen,” she said, unable to recognise that sultry, breathless voice as her own. She ran her fingers through the soft hair on his thigh, teasing as she drifted closer and closer to his cock. “I’ll have this done in a few seconds and everything will be fine.”

“Your naivety would be endearing were you currently not straddling me half naked,” he choked; the muscles beneath her hand moved as he strained anew against the bindings. She couldn’t help the little sigh of appreciation at the ripple that played beneath her fingers. “ _Maker_ , Bethany, don’t make sounds like that, it only makes it _worse!_ ”

“Makes what worse?” She was only teasing… maybe. She knew what to expect, she was sure she did. Didn’t she?

Her hand slid lower and she moaned. At the first brush of her fingers, she felt him twitch and it sent a terrified thrill sizzling through her; she hadn’t expected it to move like that, as if it had a life of its own. At her second, less tentative touch, she ran her fingers down his length, marvelling at the satiny texture of his skin and the smooth firmness of his flesh. She’d never felt anything like it before in her life, the erotic contrast of silky softness and steely strength. There was a soft ribbon wrapped delicately around his cock, the sort she might have used to tie her hair back, and she felt the cool touch of metal as she found the key.

Cullen’s head fell back against the bedframe; the groan he let out was primal and desperate. “Oh, sweet prophet, you have to stop that Bethany!” He spoke from between gritted teeth, panting heavily as if he were fighting to control himself. When she very deliberately traced the twists of the ribbon he hissed in a breath so violently that she jumped slightly.

Grinning giddily, Bethany said “Perhaps I am not so naïve when in the company of men after all, hmm?”

His eyes flew open, wild and aflame with something that could have been anger or lust… likely it was a combination of both. “You have no idea what you are getting yourself in to,” he growled, eyes narrowing as he groaned and moved against her hand.

It sent a delicious thrill her to see him weakening so quickly; she _ached_ , wet and desperate as she never had been before, not even on those rare occasions when she’d awkwardly touched herself out of curiosity. She bit her lip, vastly aroused by his reaction to her touch. “I’m just getting the key, Cullen,” she purred. Maker, who was this confident, wanton woman she’d somehow turned into? Feeling daring, she carefully wrapped her fingers around his cock and squeezed ever so gently. She was shaking, excited and terrified all at once- oh god, what if she was doing it wrong? “I can stop any time you want me-”

“Just get the key!” he snarled, his front of anger ruined at the way his hips rolled up, pressing his cock firmly into her hand. They both gasped, his eyes locked on hers in a way that was intensely intimate; seeing each little shudder that passed through him, knowing the fire in his eyes was because of _her_ , she felt as if her entire body was aflame. Her skin was too tight, and her blood seemed to be laced with lyrium for the way it burned and bubbled in her veins and before she could stop herself she felt herself saying “But I don’t _want_ to get the key.”

Cullen’s answer was an angry growl, a sound that broke halfway into a choked moan when she ran her hand slowly up and then down his length. “Bethany-”

“You clearly like what I’m doing,” she said quickly, interrupting him with a squeeze that was a little firmer than her previous attempts. Oh, the soft skin and the hot, hard flesh rolled so perfectly together in her grasp- there was something hypnotising about it, that and the way it evoked such a magnificent response from him. His eyes were hooded, his lips slightly parted as he gasped each time she changed direction. “Just relax and enjoy it.”

He hissed as she tested her grip, mostly out of curiosity to see what would evoke a reaction from him; her other hand was still drawing teasing circles on his stomach. “Relax is not normally a word I associate with being manhandled!”

She felt the first trickle of doubt, and her hand paused for a moment. “Do you not like it? Am I doing it wrong?”

The look he gave her was both withering _and_ smouldering. “If you were doing it wrong, you’d be the first to know,” he rasped. He gritted his teeth, a strangled groan emerging from between his lips. “Maker’s _Breath_ , I don’t think you know how to do it wrong. Oh, sweet prophet, _yes_ , like _that_ \- do that again!”

The desperation in his voice was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard and she couldn’t help but moan appreciatively. “Cullen, I-”

“If you’re going to continue with this madness, at least _kiss_ me woman!”

She hesitated again. “You… you really want me to kiss you?”

The growl he let out made her shiver, and the look in his eyes made her want to moan. “Bethany,” he said slowly, drawling her name so deliciously that she did gasp a little, “Don’t make me come to you.”

“I…” Oh Maker, what could she say to that? The heat in his eyes alone could have burned her if she’d stayed in place; she bit her lip as she inched forward, her hand sliding up from his stomach to his chest. She leant down hesitantly, pausing just-

He _lunged_ for her. Their mouths collided so forcefully that she let out a squeak of alarm, and he took advantage of her lapse to slide his tongue against her lip, lapping at her mouth almost ferociously. She whimpered at the onslaught, perplexed by this attack of passion from him; it was such an abrupt turn of face... but could she hardly complain, now, when this was what she’d pushed him to.

 _Oh Maker_ … he kissed her like she was the only woman in the world, with all the pent up, burning desires that he had to have repressed over the years. He strained against his bindings, leaning into her desperately as he nipped softly at her mouth. “Come closer,” he growled, sucking her bottom lip between his briefly as if to lure her.

As if she needed to be lured at all. She let go of his cock somewhat reluctantly, crawling further up his body until she was straddling his lap instead of his legs. She threaded her hands around his neck, her fingers sliding into his hair as she clung to him, trying to appear sexy even as she felt like a fumbling fool. The moment she was settled he pressed his hips upwards, his cock hot and hard between her thighs, and she let out a small cry against his mouth. He deepened the kiss, dragging her under his spell as he nuzzled at her lips and teased her with his tongue.

“Bethany, unchain me _now_.”

She whimpered at the raw maleness in his voice, the anger and the lust and the desperation all blending into one whisper that made her feel like she was about to ignite or explode. She scrabbled frantically between them, feeling him tense as her fingers wound around his cock once again; for a moment the kiss turned desperate, and she moaned at his fierce display. She didn’t linger, however, tugging the ribbon and key gently free before sitting up on her knees and reaching for the first manacle with shaking hands.

Her position put her chest at roughly head height for him, and she squealed as he nuzzled at the swell of her breast, hardly concealed by her band. She made quick work of the first lock and as his hand was freed he grasped her by the arm, tugging her down to kiss fiercely. It was intoxicating, and she was quickly lost, the key falling from her fingers as she relaxed into him…

… And felt a surge of panic as the grip on her forearm turned fierce, pinning her in place as the manacle closed firmly around her wrist. For a fraction of a second she refused to believe it was real, but then the click of the lock rang out and the truth hit home.


	3. Chapter 3

“You tricked me!” She almost shrieked the words, horrified at how easily she’d succumbed to his ploy. She felt tears pricking at her ears, her face burning from shame and mortification. “Maker, you… you… you chained me! Why would you do that?”

He sneered at her as he snatched at the sheet with his now freed hand and ripped it free of the bed. “You really expected me to fall for your little charade, did you?” With jerky, uneven movements he managed to loop the blanket around his waist until he was vaguely modest again. He tried to tuck it into itself, a difficult task one handed. He was still red faced, and his breathing was decidedly uneven; his eyes kept darting back to her before shying away again frantically. “Have some respect for my intelligence, Miss Hawke.”

She’d never felt so awful; he’d tricked her, and she’d fallen for it, and he thought her nothing more than a simpleton who could be distracted by offers of sex! “It’s not a charade!” She all but shouted at him, because she could feel her eyes burning from the tears, and if she didn’t get angry she was going to start bawling like an infant, and wouldn’t _that_ just look so sexy. Her words wobbled regardless of her efforts, and she could feel her chin quivering. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Spare me the melodramatic performance, Miss Hawke,” he snapped, pawing at the bed to find where she’d dropped the key. He was still far from unaffected, if the way he chewed on his lip while he stared at her legs was an indicator. The look made her feel vulnerable and yet still damnably aroused, so she tried tucking them underneath herself; the movement seemed to make him realise he was staring and he let out a frustrated grunt. “Where did you drop the damn key?”

Common sense cut through her thwarted arousal and humiliation; he meant to chain her here and find a way to escape. He was going to leave her, after kissing her and whispering decadently to her and making her feel like he actually _wanted_ to touch her. The hurt and the desire morphed into anger and she lunged forward, shoving into him and knocking him away from where she’d last seen the key. “If anyone is being melodramatic here, it’s _you_ Captain!”

Her attack knocked him off balance and they went sprawling across the bed together in a tangle of limbs. Bethany gasped, both from the contact of bare skin and the weight of him as he landed atop her. Arms entangled together and skin was flush against skin, his breath hot on her neck and the stubble on his jaw rasping over her skin; for a moment she forgot that she was angry, because _Maker_ it was hard to hold onto anything but the way he felt against her. But there wasn’t time to revel in the closeness- not that she would have wanted to anyway because he was a _jerk_ \- because he was growling curses under his breath as he tried to unravel the mess they’d wound themselves into, and he was yanking on the chain to try and get more reach.

 _Maker it felt nice to be this close to him…_

She shook herself angrily and fought to get him off her, ignoring the wild thrill it sent through her- or at least trying to- and fighting on her own binding as she twisted her head from side to side to try and spot the key.

“You’re making this needlessly difficult!” Cullen snarled, gaining his balance as he knelt above her, legs either side of her hips. The blanket had ridden up in the tussle, only barely covering the tops of his thighs- not that she was noticing or anything.

“You’re needlessly being an ass!” she snapped in response, spotting the key glinting in the tangled sheets and darting a hand out to snatch at it.

He all but tackled her, pinning her arm to the bed as her fingers closed around the warm iron. “Give me the key, Bethany!”

She was trapped beneath him, clutching desperately at the key with her other arm twisted at an awkward angle by the manacle. But she was hardly at his mercy, since they were both chained by one arm and she was in possession of the key, after all. That had to count for something. Angry and frustrated, she snapped “Make me!”

And realised about half a second later what a bad suggestion that was to give to a practically naked man lying on top of her. That was all the warning she had before his lips came crashing down over hers.

She gasped in surprise, a lapse he quickly took advantage of by deepening the kiss. The hand that trapped her wrist seemed not quite so forceful, his thumb brushing against the pulse point with feather light strokes that made her whimper. He nipped at her lip, his kisses drugging and taunting and _far_ too good for a man who was all but married to his duties. Bethany moaned, her toes curling into the bed sheet beneath her as she fought the urge to press herself up against him, to slide her feet along his calves and higher.

He tore his mouth away for a scant second, his lips brushing over hers. “Give me the key, Bethany,” he drawled softly, tracing his tongue over the corner of her mouth.

Oh, Maker, it was awkward like this- her arm was twisted beneath her, caught by the wretched manacle. His arm, the one not currently doing wildly erotic things to her wrist, was bent at what had to be a painful angle behind his back, but he was doing a stalwart job of ignoring it. But awkward didn’t seem to matter when his weight was pressing her down into the mattress and his bare leg was wedged very deliberately between her thighs. And he covered her mouth again, seemingly devouring every whimper and desperate whisper that escaped from her.

She broke away, turning her face to the side to try and catch her breath. Cullen seemed to take it as an invitation to run his teeth over the curve of her jaw. “I’m not giving it to you, you wretch,” she gasped, trying to twist away from his seeking mouth.

He bit down on the juncture of her neck and her jaw, forcing a surprised cry from her; she unwittingly arched up into him, which in turn made him grunt. “It doesn’t have to be hard, Bethany,” he whispered, running his tongue along the curve of her ear until she whimpered. “Just give me the key, and I’ll make sure that one of your friends is informed of your whereabouts to come and rescue you.”

His words wrenched her out of the fantasy that had begun to form around, and she tried to twist violently from his hold. She was terribly unsuccessful, given that his body was pinning her down, and for a moment all she wanted to do was screech at him and buck and fight until he got away from her. “You demeaning ass,” she hissed, wrenching her head to the side when he tried to pursue her to kiss. The heat in his eyes made her shiver, and that just made her angrier. “Do you really think me that shallow and dim-witted that you can seduce me and then leave me trussed up and half naked? I will _never_ give you the key!”

His eyes, burning into her until it was all she could do not to whimper, narrowed. “Bethany,” he began slowly, drawling each syllable of her name in the most delectable of ways.

“Save it, Cullen!” She felt tears burning in her eyes again, mortified that she would succumb again to his sneaky, conniving attempts to escape from her. “You aren’t getting the key from me, you deceptive bastard! Maybe if you’d shown me a little genuine affection, instead of this farce you’re maintaining just to get free, I might have been more inclined to help you!”

Something flared in his eyes, anger and arousal and disbelief all mingling as one. “You think I would fake my attraction to you?”

She turned her head to the side and bit her lip, so that she didn’t have to look at him anymore. “You quite clearly have, given that you’ve only used it as a means to an end so far, and you expressed your disgust with me earlier.”

“Fine,” he snapped, rising up above her for a moment, the muscles in his chest flexing and straining as the chain tugged at his wrist. She was horrified to admit that she found it far too enchanting a sight. “Have it your way.”

Before she could voice an adequate protest, he dropped down to his hands and knees over her, and she thought for a moment the he was going to kiss her again. But then his mouth landed hot and wet on the swell of her breast and the only noise that emerged from her mouth was not so much a protest as a desperate keening sob.

“Cullen,” she whimpered, not quite a question and not quite begging, but still something important.

He didn’t answer her, his mouth instead travelling over the linen of her band to find the hardened nipple beneath. He didn’t really tease at all- he nuzzled for a moment before sucking into his mouth, tongue rolling over her flesh through the thin barrier of the cloth.

“Oh, _Maker_ , Cullen!” What else was there to say? Should she yell at him to get off? Scream wantonly for him to continue? He’d tricked her and confounded her and aroused her relentlessly, and now he was doing wicked, wonderful things to her so that he could continue to trick and confound her… and all she wanted to do was beg for him to keep going.

Clearly she had no shame. Or sense of self preservation.

He suckled firmly, the cloth band little hindrance to him as he swirled his tongue over her nipple, hot and wet and with just the right amount of pressure for it to swing between pleasure and pain. With each firm pull of his mouth, she felt an answering tug from between her thighs, heat building in her belly.

When she arched up into him, crying out softly, she heard him chuckle; the sound rumbled through her, making her shiver and fight the desire to clutch at his back and drag him closer. Instead she wound the ribbon awkwardly around her fingers before grabbing fiercely at the sheets instead.

“Give me the key, Bethany,” he whispered, nuzzling against her aching nipple until she whimpered. “Let me go and I’ll make you so happy before I leave.”

 _Ohhh_ , sweet blood of the prophet, he wasn’t surely going so far as to offer her sex in exchange for the key, was he? “My answer is the same as before, Cul- _ahhh!_ ” He pressed his thigh firmly between her legs, and she bucked against him without meaning to. Her body felt like it was on fire, all sizzly and bubbly and aching in ways that she’d never even imagined.

“Pity,” he murmured, dragging his tongue across the swell of her breast and blowing cool air over the wet fabric until her head was thrashing from side to side. “I would have enjoyed making you cry out my name as you came.”

She choked on a sob, writhing beneath him even as she fought to keep herself still. Maker, she had to stop encouraging him! “It’s not going to happen,” she whispered desperately, making a keening sound as he trailed over her skin to her other breast, tonguing lightly through the fabric yet again before succumbing and locking his mouth over her nipple.

She was certain she could feel him smiling against her flesh, and it infuriated her as much as it aroused her.

“I have to wonder, Bethany.” Oh, the way he drawled her name was the most delectable thing in the world. He said it as if it were sensual, exotic, sexy. Maker, she’d never felt that before, never felt the power in being an object of attraction, and it was _thrilling_. “How far have you let other men go before me, hmm? Have they kissed you? Have they held you, running their fingers through your hair as their lips ran over your neck?”

 _Sweet flaming prophet_. The man was a danger to women everywhere; clearly the armour was just a front, his duties as a Templar secondary to his secret life as a sexual deviant.

He waited for her to answer, but she only whimpered, biting her lip as if to hold back the words. He chuckled again, making slow, teasing sweeps over her breast until the whimper became a moan. “Something tells me that perhaps you haven’t let other men kiss you so intimately,” he murmured; he pressed slowly between her thighs then retreated, then pressed forward again in a rhythm that very rapidly began to drive her out of her mind. She could feel something building within her, something coiling hot and tight in her belly as he tortured her so exquisitely. His breath fanned over her skin, raising shivers wherever his mouth drifted. Her nipples ached from his ministrations, the wet cloth stretched to tight- with every shaky breath she drew in, it rasped erotically against her tortured flesh. “I think that perhaps you’ve kept yourself secret, your treasures hidden away from the world; I don’t think anyone has dared to go hunting for what you’ve kept hidden so carefully. Would I be right?”

Oh Maker. “You can’t have the key,” she rasped; holding onto that one truth as a way to centre herself, and hold firm against his teasing. He’d threatened to leave her here, after all. He was not to be trusted.

She cried out desperately at the first kiss that landed in the centre of her stomach. His stubble rasped deliciously over her skin. “Who said I was interested in the key anymore?” he asked, as the next kiss landed even lower.


	4. Chapter 4

His tongue flickered lower- and then he cursed under his breath. Panting raggedly, Bethany cracked open an eye to see what had caused his outburst. Cullen was glaring at the manacle around his wrist, his expression so fierce that it was a wonder the iron didn’t simply melt into slag.

“What are you-”

“The chain doesn’t reach,” he snarled, his gaze snapping back to hers. She inhaled sharply at that look, biting into her lip to stop herself from begging for things she couldn’t quite name. “Give me the key.”

And they were back to that again. “No,” she whimpered, her body betraying her by choosing that moment to shiver and clench and tremble under the assault of all the unresolved sensations in her body.

He let out a sound that was purely male and completely frustrated; it was all the warning she had before he surged upwards, covering her body with his and pressing her into the mattress again as he kissed her ferociously.

He broke away, looming over her on his hands and knees. His hand covered hers; his fingers completely encompassing her much daintier ones. “Give me the Maker blessed key, Bethany!”

“We can keep going in circles if you want, Captain,” she whispered, realising the irony a moment too late of her use of the word Circle. She tightened her hand around the key, the metal stabbing into her palm. “But you’re not getting the key until you stop trying to trick me.”

His nostrils flared, and he was practically radiating fury, but that didn’t stop him from covering her mouth with his again, kissing and nibbling and licking at her lips until she moaned and opened up to him. “I’m not tricking you now,” he murmured, stealing her breath straight from her, drinking her in even as he kept her pinned beneath him. She could feel his cock, still hard and straining, pressed into her belly and when he rolled his hips against her she whimpered.

She tore her mouth away from his, her resolve crumbling like sand in the wind. “I have a little trouble believing that,” she gasped, “given that you’re still lying on top of me.”

“Make up your mind, Bethany,” he said angrily, his teeth scraping over her jaw as he kissed a little too firmly. “First you attempt to seduce me poorly, and then you berate me when I return the favour? Perhaps I should be asking what game it is that _you’re_ playing at.”

“Maybe if you treated me with a little more respect than just ‘let me pleasure you and then leave you chained to a bed’ I might be inclined to believe you!”

“I was willing to court you properly,” he snapped, nipping at her neck as she arched up into him. He didn’t really seem to be in control himself, if his ragged breathing and jerky movements were anything to go by. “After we met in the Chantry, I thought I would be willing to risk making a fool of myself and attempting to woo you. But that was when I thought you were nothing more than a simple, devout Ferelden girl, beautiful and-”

The word _beautiful_ made her stomach lurch, but that wasn’t the word she focussed on. “You thought I was simple?” she snarled, anger flooding through her. “The Knight Captain wants to find himself a devoutly stupid young bride, to dote on him and never question his opinion and service him nightly? Is that what you saw in me, was it?”

She tried to push him off her, but it was like trying to move a mountain. “Bethany,” he began, the word snapped out but still oh so sensual.

“Save your breath, Captain,” she hissed, “because this one is neither stupid nor submissive. I will not kowtow to your ridiculous ego.”

He kissed her again, a surprising thing for him to do after she’d just berated him, but Maker she couldn’t bring herself to complain. He tasted divine, and the things that man could do just with his tongue alone were sinful. When he rubbed at her sex with his thigh, wedging his leg between hers, she whimpered and let him, despite- or because of? – her anger.

His hand was running up and down her own, fingers dancing from her elbow to her wrist and back again. When he attempted to twine his fingers through hers she felt her heart flutter a little at the intimacy the gesture implied. For a moment he clutched her hand to his while he kissed her, dragging little moans and breathy sighs from her as he drove her crazy.

She realised half a second too late what he was doing.

The key was between them, the ribbon wrapped around both their hands. And he pulled it free before she had a chance to stop him.

She tensed, panicked, and lunged for it, grabbing for his hand, the ribbon, the key, his wrist _anything_. It wasn’t enough though; he was faster than her, and he’d caught her stupidly unawares. And he had the key, he had the _Maker blighted key_ and he was going to leave her and she’d kissed him and touched him and let him touch her and _oh Andraste_ , she’d made such a _fool_ of herself and now he was going to-

He knelt astride her and reached for the headboard, where the chains kept them both pinned.

“Cullen,” she begged, horrified to hear her voice falter, choked up from so many emotions that it just hurt to _breathe_. “You can’t-”

There was a snick of a lock turning, and for a moment there was pressure on her wrist and then… then she fell free, her arm tingling from the rush of blood almost instantly. She stared at it, bewildered, overwhelmed by the significance of that gesture, of what it meant that her arm was no longer locked away. “What?”

There was the sound of another lock, and then the clatter of a chain as the manacles fell away from the bed entirely… and then Cullen was kneeling above her with both hands freed, flexing the most recent one as feeling returned with a vengeance, if the grimace on his face was anything to go by.

“Cullen,” she whispered, suddenly vulnerable, suddenly confused, because she had no idea what such a gesture meant coming from this man. A man whom she had assumed to be so two dimensional, a stalwart defender of the faith who attended to his duties and led a simple life; but there was anger in him, and passion and defiance and lust and she was just so _bewildered_ by him. “What are you doing?”

“You are _not_ simple,” he said roughly, more of a growl than anything else. “I didn’t mean it like that. Far from it. You are a damned frustrating, beautiful woman, and Maker knows I should leave you alone.”

 _But I can’t._ He didn’t say it, but the words hung in the air between them.

Bethany licked her lips, suddenly aware of the tension building in the room, the fact that they were both free and practically naked.

“Swear that you had nothing to do with this,” he said softly, his hands coming down slowly to trace up and down her arms. “Swear that you knew nothing about this, and that you had no part in us coming together like this.”

She was panting again, frozen in place by his touch and the fiery look he had her fixed with. “I swear,” she whimpered, biting at her lip so that she didn’t moan out loud.

The flare of satisfaction in his eyes was telling enough. “And tell me honestly- have you ever been with another man before? Another woman, perhaps?”

She’d barely even kissed anyone before today. Having two wildly protective brothers tended to do that to a girl. “N-never,” she whispered, blushing as she stuttered.

The wild triumph in his eyes as he smiled slowly was too much- she did moan now, shivering as his fingers danced lightly over her arms. “Well then… perhaps I can help with that after all.”

Bethany couldn’t hold his gaze in that moment, and turned her head to the side with a shaky intake of breath. “Cullen, I-” She felt her lip trembling and she almost moaned in embarrassment. “Is this a trick? You weren’t so very keen on… the idea a few moments ago.”

He chuckled softly, the sound sensual and dangerous. “You assume that the life of a Templar also requires me to lead the life of a priest.” And he was sliding down, his hands braced either side of her head; she let out a nervous squeak as his thigh very deliberately slid between hers with more force than earlier. “You think that a man cannot hunger for pleasure, just because he serves the Bride of the Maker?”

The words alone were enough to steal her breath away, but when she glanced back at him, the look in his eyes was nothing but fire and sex and want. “And you want to… _do that_ … with me?”

His lips quirked in a wretchedly charming grin. “Why not?”

It was hardly a proclamation of undying love, but what was she expecting? This was not about two souls meeting like the endings in one of Isabela’s wicked stories; this was not one of those stories, however, and Bethany did not think herself anywhere near as bold as those women. And therein lay her complaint. “I can hardly believe the opportunity for… such frivolity arises all that regularly,” she whispered, mentally kicking herself for sounding so formal. “Why would you waste your time with someone inexperienced? You could have your pick of any of the women at the Blooming Rose, and they’d at least know what they were doing.”

“For someone who went out of her way to seem seductive not ten minutes ago, you’re certainly terrible at being seduced.” His breath fanned over her cheek as he placed a soft, lingering kiss at the very edge of her mouth, his tongue flickering briefly against her lips.

Almost hesitantly she brought her hands up to his shoulders, hovering nervously before she let them land on bare skin. He was warm, so very warm, and muscles flexed intriguingly beneath her palms as he bent over her and traced over her jaw with his tongue. “I am appropriately cautious about your intentions,” she managed to force out, hoping that it sounded confident and unaffected by his teasing, but resigned to the fact that she in fact sounded quite breathless and needy.

“Appropriately cautious,” he chuckled; his hands framed her face, fingers threaded through her hair as he pulled back to look at her. He had her caged, his weight pinning her down, his arms braced either side of her and his hands on her… the rational part of her brain, growing infinitely smaller by the second, cried out that there was nothing appropriate or cautious about letting a Templar trap her like this, and that any moment now he would realise her great secret and there would be no more clandestine kisses and no more instances of half-naked bodies pressed together so magnificently. “Well, perhaps your naivety is somewhat a part of the appeal. Perhaps I don’t want a well-practised lover, but someone that I can sculpt and guide and mould into precisely the kind of lover who appeals to me.”

 _Oh._

“Perhaps the idea of being the first to hear your cries of passion holds more appeal than you realise,” he murmured, leaning closer until their noses touched. “Perhaps I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for the last few days, ever since we met in the Chantry, and perhaps the idea of making you mine has not left my head for a second.”

Oh Maker.

He kissed her then, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks as he completely stole her breath from her, devouring each murmur and moan and gasp she made, driving her wild with little more than his mouth. She squirmed, and then whimpered when he mimicked the motion, rubbing his leg against her sex.

From between kisses, she found a quick gap to gasp for air, and broach the subject that had been playing on her mind. “Do you make it a habit to go around deflowering virgins, that you’d be so well versed on the subject?”

“You object to my efforts so far?” he teased, nipping at her lip as she tried to turn away. “If you have suggestions for improvement, I’m open to ideas.”

“ _Now_ you’re teasing me,” she gasped, trying to scowl but smiling instead. And then he kissed just below her chin as she squirmed away from him and oh, it was marvellous. Her hands fell back, twining amongst the sheets so that he wouldn’t notice how desperately wild he made her feel. “As if I would have anything of merit to offer.”

“Mm,” he murmured wordlessly, scarping teeth over skin as he drifted lower, over her neck and down the curve of her collarbone. “What if I were to do things, kisses and touches and whatnot, and you could tell me if you enjoy it or not? Does that appeal at all, I wonder?”

She shivered. “It does,” she whispered, closing her eyes as his mouth came dangerously close to the swell of her breasts once more.

“Then what would my _lover_ have me do first?”

“Oh _Maker_ , Cullen.” _Lover_. She was someone’s _lover_. It was enough that she was panting, her fingers digging into the mattress, the fabric bunching up beneath her hands. “I don’t… I can’t say, I don’t know what you want me to, um, _do_ and I don’t know what you-”

“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmured, placing a kiss carefully between her breasts, tongue tracing delicate patterns over the flesh until she was keening. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she panted.

He nuzzled over her skin, little half kisses that made her writhe and gasp desperately. “And you liked it when I did it with your clothing still on, didn’t you? Would you like it more if I took this loathsome scrap of fabric away for good?”

She could feel herself trembling. “Oh, Maker, Cullen, yes _yes!_ ”

His laughter rumbled through her. “Good to see you decisive about something, my dear.” He was doing things, one hand between her body and the mattress, the other stroking slowly at her hip; his grip turned firm and then he was-

“Cullen!” She squealed in alarm as he rolled her, pulling her atop his body and tugging her down to kiss all in one motion. She moaned against his mouth, distracted enough that she didn’t quite pay attention to his hands on her back. Oh, she was aware of them certainly, fingers dancing over her skin in a way that both tickled and aroused her. But it still came as quite the shock when the cloth around her chest suddenly fell loose, slithering away from her skin. She tensed, trying immediately to work her arms between them so that she could clutch the errant band to her and retain her modesty.

A peculiar desire at such a moment, but old habits were hard to overcome. And it wasn’t as if she’d ever been so open and intimate with a person before, so it wasn’t as if she was about to feel comfortable being so very naked with someone.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping his arms firmly around her so that she couldn’t escape. He kissed her until she relaxed again, making little noises against his mouth as he grinned lazily. “You’re not getting shy now, are you? After you were so very naughty earlier, playing with my cock like that?”

It was still shocking hearing such a word come from a man like the Knight Captain; Templars were terrifying, stoic, fierce men and women, never men with clever hands and filthy mouths. “ _Cullen,_ ” she whispered, begging him for something- although she still wasn’t sure what she was asking for.

His tongue was toying with hers, the motion drugging. “I’ll make you a deal,” he managed, sounding quite breathless himself now. “Let me take this from you, and I promise I’ll let you unwrap me. Does that appeal, Bethany?”

Her body didn’t feel like her own any more, all hot and sizzly and desperately impatient for things she only had a vague understanding of. “Unwrap you?” she gasped.

Cullen pulled free for a brief moment, one arm still splayed across her lower back, the other cradled against her cheek, tucking the hair away from her face. There was something in his eyes, something that suggested tenderness instead of simple lust, something that made her breath catch in her throat. “If you’ll recall, dear Bethany,” he drawled, smiling as she shivered in his embrace, “I’m conveniently covered by a bright red bow. And I’d be more than happy for you to undo that bow so that we can see what might come afterwards.”

“What might come afterwards?” she repeated, struck dumb by even the image his suggestion conjured in her head.

His smile turned predatory. “Why, _you_ Bethany.”


	5. Chapter 5

His words took a moment to sink in, and she felt her face flame when understanding hit her. She gaped for a moment, her mouth opening and closing uselessly as she struggled to respond wittily… or at all.

He took advantage of her speechlessness, crushing her to him and kissing her wildly; she didn’t object as he rolled her back over again, covering her body with his. She felt the breast band slide loose as he tugged it from her and she moaned at the first unobstructed press of skin against skin, the rasp of his body against her nipples making her gasp and cling to him.

His hands never seemed to stay still for long, as if he was bound by the need to keep touching her, to keep exploring her. “Sweetheart, you feel so _good_ ,” he murmured, the words almost indistinguishable around the frenzied kisses that he peppered over her mouth and chin. “Tell me you like that, please?”

It was the little _please_ on the end that melted the last of her reservations, the way it was offered almost hesitantly. She felt herself smiling in turn, pleased that perhaps he was not as wildly confident and domineering as he pretended to be. “I like it,” she whispered.

He growled in response, possibly something that was supposed to be a word and just failed; the thought made her giggle, right up until the moment where he started to pull away, and then started to sit up and she realised she was _completely naked from the waist up_.

She fought the urge to cover herself, her hands only just listening to her and instead stopping on her stomach where they twitched restlessly. She could feel his eyes on her, and she tried not to cringe and close her eyes, instead taking a shaky breath and glancing up at him. He was staring back, and the look on his face made her stomach flutter.

“Maker, you’re beautiful Bethany,” he whispered, something akin to awe lighting in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be shy, not of this.” His fingers trailed over her stomach, up under the curves of her breasts and then over, dancing lightly over her nipples and then past them. There was such a fierce look of concentration on his face, as if he were trying to commit her to memory from touch alone. She shivered at each ghostly brush of his fingers, arching up into his touch as her curiosity won out over her nervousness. Each little sound she made sparked something in his eyes, lust and wonder and want all burning together until she felt emboldened enough to let her hands slide down to his thighs where he straddled her hips.

He glanced down sharply at her fingers nudging at the edge of the blanket still wrapped firmly around his waist; his gaze snapped back to her and made her moan, but she still raised an eyebrow daringly. As if to say ‘ _wasn’t this a part of our agreement?_ ’

“Feeling bold, are we?” he rasped, his voice not quite so even as it had been a moment ago. “Do you want me to indulge you, then?”

She nodded before she lost her nerve. “It’s only fair, Captain.”

He shrugged as if unconcerned by the prospect. “By all means then,” he said, reaching for the knot at his hip and tugging it quickly free. He cast the blanket to the side, deliberately watching it fall to the floor as if that extra second without eye contact would give him a boost of courage.

The bow had come partially askew, and there was no missing what it had been hiding. Bethany ran her hands slowly up his thighs, feeling the moment his eyes came to rest on her again. Her skin was too hot and too tight and Maker she just wanted him to keep touching her, but his own hands stayed at his sides, almost as if he was frozen in place.

She’d touched him earlier, and felt daring for doing so. Oh, how she wished for that same bravado from before, that she might just reach for him easily and tease him and play to her heart’s content. His cock- she blushed instantly, just from thinking the word- jutted out straight from his body, leaning ever so slightly upwards. It moved slightly, never quite staying still despite its owner’s attempts to do so. The colour was perhaps the most fascinating, ruddy and darkening towards purple at the head, where a drop of moisture glistened almost temptingly. She was almost overcome with the insane notion to see what it tasted like, and she held herself back with difficulty.

“Are you quite certain you’ve never done anything before?” Cullen rasped, drawing her gaze back up to his face. The desperation in his eyes was amazing, and it made Bethany shiver; feigning boldness she didn’t feel, she wrapped one hand around the base of his cock to hold him in place while the other reached forward to tug at the naughty ribbon. Cullen gasped, his head falling slightly to the side, his shoulders rolling as a shudder of pleasure rippled through him.

Bethany bit her lip as she let the ribbon slide slowly over his flesh; strange how such an act could be arousing for her as well. “What makes you say that?” she asked, marvelling at the way his cock twitched and jerked beneath her hands, at the shiver she felt pass through his body, the way he seemed to be simply vibrating tension and need. It was incredible, to feel so powerful from so simple an action.

Of course any sense of victory was short lived when he remembered he had hands of his own, perfect for teasing. His fingers began at her hips and traced slowly up the outside of her curves and she couldn’t help but lift slightly off the bed, curling into the touch with a whispering sigh. “You’re too good with your hands,” he grunted, a predatory sort of smile creeping over his mouth as she writhed against his fingers.

“I could say the same to you!” she gasped. When she tightened her hand around his cock, rubbing her fingers along the underside, he let out a frustrated groan that she couldn’t help but echo.

“Bethany,” he growled, “if you don’t hurry up with that bow-”

It was all the encouragement- or should that be warning?- that she needed, pulling the satiny length of ribbon from him, unable to help herself from a silly little flourish at the end. She giggled as he smirked down at her, trailing off onto a moan as his hands ran unrestrained over her stomach and then over her breasts. As his palms closed over her, she let her eyes fall shut, overwhelmed by the heat of his hands and the delicious friction of the calluses on his fingers, a sign of the severe life he had led.

She reciprocated by letting her hand slide along his cock, feeling somewhat giddy when he thrust forward into her hold. She was desperately hungry for him, in a way that she’d never allowed herself to feel for another; and there were so many things she wanted to do to him, all courtesy of Isabela’s naughty stories, but she had no idea how to actually do even a tenth of what she’d read and-

“Beth,” he rasped. It seemed like it was supposed to be a question and in his desperation he’d just worded it poorly.

“Yes?” She cried out frantically as his thumbs ran over her nipples, callused flesh scraping so deliciously.

“Let go.”

There was no mistaking it as anything other than a command, and it wasn’t like she could misconstrue what he meant. With a pang of reluctance she let her hands fall away, letting them fall somewhat helplessly to the bed spread either side of her hips.

“Good,” he growled, shifting his weight and taking his hands away from her. She shivered at the rush of air on sweat soaked skin, mourning the loss of his touch but already on edge to see if he planned what she suspected he did…

She moaned as he grasped her smalls and tugged, her first instinct to respond by grabbing hold and pulling in the other direction. Instead her fingers twisted almost violently into the sheets, a flood of heat and lust flushing through her as he pulled the last of her clothing from her. She was panting- was that a wanton thing to do? The women in Isabela’s stories always seemed to pant a lot- and she stared at the canopy instead of at him because Maker if she didn’t feel desperately nervous right now.

He shifted again, tugging the smalls past her knees and then to her ankles, lifting each foot in turn to untangle the fabric from her limbs. When he pressed an open mouthed kiss to her ankle she couldn’t hold back the desperate little moan.

“I love the sounds you make,” he whispered, kissing a little higher along her leg. She risked looking at him to see him watching her, his eyes burning so fiercely that she whimpered.

And then of course realisation sank into her a moment later when his eyes drifted away from hers, and instead to her _oh Blessed Prophet completely naked body_. She sucked in a breath as his gaze travelled over her, whimpering when he stopped to stare at the juncture of her thighs, and the dark nest of curls that seemed embarrassingly damp.

His hand ran down her leg, over her knee and lingering on her thigh until she shivered, squirming awkwardly while she clenched her mouth shut. She wanted to ask him for things, and she had no way of knowing what was appropriate or even feasible and Maker if he didn’t touch her soon she was going to explode.

His nostrils flared and something changed in his eyes. “I can smell you, Bethany,” he drawled, kissing a little higher on her calf. His tongue traced patterns over her skin, his mouth following as he ventured closer to her knee. He lifted her leg so easily, hands large and warm as he cradled her limb. “You want me, don’t you?”

She didn’t know how to answer without squeaking, or begging, or sounded desperate, so she just nodded furiously, biting down into her lip.

Her response seemed to please him, if the sly look in his eyes was anything to go by. “Do you want me to kiss you here?” he asked, nuzzling at the edge of her knee, the little dip on the inside that was ticklish to touch. His lips brushed lightly over it, and ticklish was probably the wrong way to describe it- more accurate to say that every nerve ending in her body came alight at the very hint of a touch.

“Maker yes,” she whispered, shivering as he obliged.

“And here?” His mouth landed a little higher, not quite halfway up her thigh. His eyes flickered from her face and down to her exposed sex, his smirk widening a little as his gaze came back to her. It was enough to make her moan, fingers digging into the bed, her hips moving somewhat involuntarily. He took it as assent and kissed her, dragging his mouth deliberately along her leg as he moved to his next spot. “What about here?”

“Oh, Maker, you’re a wretched tease!” It didn’t sound so much accusatory as breathless and needy, which only encouraged him really. Blasted male. She felt his chuckle, hot breath rolling over her skin until she shivered.

“You can tell me to stop any time you like,” he murmured, his mouth hot and wet near to the top of her thigh.

She whimpered. “Don’t ever stop,” she breathed.

His fingers slid over her stomach and lower at her words; a strangled sort of gasp was all she managed when his fingers traced over her for the first time, dancing along the very edge of her cleft. It was all she could do not to buck up into his touch.

He hissed appreciatively. “You’re wet for me?” His uncertainty shone through again, his eyes seeking hers out as he touched her. As if it could be anyone else’s doing, foolish man, but there was a hint of doubt in his voice, as if he was seeking validation from her.

Bethany nodded frantically, almost insensible from the sensations he was rousing in her. He hovered over her, so close to her, and she knew there was something in particular he could do, something that Isabela had described with eyes glazed and mouth curved into a knowing smile; but this was Cullen and he seemed hardly more experienced than she herself. She daren’t ask for _that_ , of all things- it seemed far too naughty.

“Tell me,” he rasped, his fingers dipping in, exploring gently and she sobbed out a moan.

She took a tremulous breath. “It’s for you,” she whispered.

And then he kissed her at the top of her thigh, mouth brushing dangerously close to where she desperately wanted him. “Oh, _Cullen_ ,” she sobbed, her body alive with need and lust; her hips pressed upwards almost without her permission, and she didn’t know how to ask, didn’t even know really if it was the kind of thing one did ask for, but Maker she was _desperate_.

His eyes were so hot on her skin, burning her as he stared at her. “I want to kiss you,” he groaned, his finger brushing over the sensitive nub between her thighs; the jolt that it sent through her was so immense that she nearly screamed. “May I?”

She was panting raggedly, hardly even aware of what she was agreeing to when she nodded.

Until he placed the first kiss directly between her legs.


	6. Chapter 6

The sound she let out at his touch was probably best described as a scream. The kiss, soft and innocent were it placed anywhere else, was hot and exquisite and just so far beyond her wildest imaginations that her brain seemed to fizzle to a stop. Her hips came off the bed, her thighs tightening reflexively around his shoulders as she sobbed desperately, fighting to gain control of a body that felt wild and reckless and damned close to explosive.

He laughed, the sound shaky. “You liked that, did you?” His hands came up and eased her thighs apart again, one hand pressing firmly against her hip to hold her in place. “Would you like me to do it again?”

Did it make her a wanton if she resorted to begging? Isabela would know for sure; she’d ask her later. Right now, she’d just have to risk it. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her hands fluttering uselessly. Should she… touch him? Was that allowed? Acceptable? Really what she wanted to do was cling to him, urge him to continue, beg him to wring every drop of pleasure from her as she held his face between her legs.

At the second touch of his mouth she whimpered and bit down on her hand; his breath fanned over her slick flesh, tongue flicking out to her sodden curls. She moaned and a violent tremor ran through her, her hips moving up towards his mouth yet again. His grip on her leg tightened, and she was very abruptly pinned down, hardly able to move at all.

“Bethany,” he murmured, “if you wriggle I can’t do my job right. You do want me to do this right, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she moaned, her head rolling from side to side; she felt like she was about to burst out of her skin any moment now.

And then, _oh Maker_ , his mouth was on her again, his tongue sliding over her nub, lips closing around it, suckling nuzzling, _kissing_ ; it was indescribable. Isabela had hinted, eyes dark with mischief as she teased each word out one by one, but never had she ever considered it to be anything more than something naughty, that only the most seasoned of lovers performed on one another. This was, _ohhh_ , it was hot and excruciatingly wonderful and she’d never _ever_ felt like this before in her life.

She couldn’t even have imagined it, really.

“ _Maker_ , Cullen,” she wailed, writhing despite his arm across her hips pinning her down. His growl of satisfaction made her gasp, trailing off onto a sob when his tongue traced lower and delved into her sex. She bucked wildly, her hands grabbing for his head and urging him closer; she heard him chuckle, _felt it_ , and it drove her mad. His tongue was replaced by a finger, mouth moving back up to kiss and suck while he eased deep inside of her.

It was a hard thing to describe, what happened next. It was certainly something Isabela had described to her time and again, dreamy eyed over the good ones and chuckling over the bad ones; her mother had even attempted to talk to her about it once or twice, hushed and hurried conversations when the house had been empty but for the two of them. Neither of their tales did it any justice.

There was a moment when the bubbling pressure within her seemed to burst, the delicious seething tension breaking her apart entirely. She cried out, her fingers digging into his scalp as she dragged him closer; her feet scrabbled madly at the bed as her body was caught up in waves of magnificent _feeling_ that swept through her. It was just pulsing, maddening sensation, a beautiful, crashing swell that seemed to go on and on, ebbing and then surging again. And all through it he kept teasing, suckling and nibbling, his tongue swirling while his finger slid in and out; she sobbed as each kiss pushed her pleasure onwards for just a little bit longer, each pulse a little weaker than the one before it, until finally she lay dazed and adrift, her eyes half closed, and only partially aware of when Cullen pulled away from her.

She was panting, lost and completely incapable of coherent thought, when he first called her name.

“Bethany.” When she realised he’d spoken three times, angrier each time, she wrenched her focus back to him. The delicious lethargy within her died at the look on his face.

“Cullen?” she whispered, confused… until she noticed her breath steaming in front of her face, and saw the ice crystals scattered through his hair.

“Cullen,” she began, feeling horror surging through her as she realised exactly what it was that she’d done, “I can explain-”

The fury in his eyes made her shrink back against the pillows with a moan. He followed her, braced above her body while he radiated white hot anger. “I believe I can make an accurate assessment myself, Miss Hawke,” he snarled. It should have been funny, it really should- he was looming above her, naked as the day he was born, with her essence all but dripping from his chin, lips still wet and yet he was about to accuse her of something earth-shattering. It was the kind of thing one expected to read in one of those naughty books that Isabela kept pressing on her.

“Please, Cullen,” she begged, reaching up for him; he recoiled from her touch and she flinched, feeling tears pricking at her eyes. “Just let me talk. Let me explain.”

“What is there to explain?” he snapped. Interestingly he hadn’t gone far, still perched above her, one knee between her thighs whether he was aware of it or not. “You are a mage. An _apostate_.”

He spat the words as if they were the cruellest insult he could hurl at her.

“And here someone was nice enough to leave you alone in a room with me,” he continued, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Now who in their right mind would leave a young mage woman alone with a Templar? Do you have enemies, Miss Hawke? People who would relish the irony of serving you up on a silver platter?”

Her horror began to bleed slowly out of her, replaced by confusion again. “I don’t-”

“Or is this about me?” The look he fixed on her was so fierce that she scooted back marginally on the bed; he followed her. She bit her lip as he loomed in close, so close in fact that his nose was touching hers and her nipples brushed up against his bare chest, hardening despite the panic she felt. “Is this some wretched plot to discredit the Templars, have me thrown from office? Does someone think it’s funny to see the Knight Captain caught in bed with a mage?”

She swallowed nervously, his mood and accusations bouncing from one extreme to the other from one breath to the next. She wanted to stay calm, to sound mature and adult when she answered him, but that was a bit hard when her body was rubbing against his ever so lightly, the heat of him burning so deliciously; there was a yearning inside of her that wanted to just grab him and wrench him downwards, their bodies entwined and slick together. She _wanted_ him to keep touching her, her body not quite recovered from that marvellous climax that he had driven her to.

What kind of idiot was she that she wanted to see how far she could push the Knight Captain _after_ he’d discovered her dark secret?

His eyes burned into her as her hesitation lengthened. “Or perhaps _you_ find it funny, Bethany; was this all a setup? Did you and your friends choose me as a target days ago in the Chantry, and this is all some lark at my expense? If you were looking to humiliate me, Bethany, I assure you that you don’t have to make it public- you’ve done a good enough job in here alone.”

The words stabbed at her, even more than the way he sneered over _mage_ and _apostate_ earlier. And yet her wretched body wouldn’t let her leave well enough alone, aching for him, begging her to overcome her sense of self preservation and just reach from him again. “Why aren’t you angry I’m a mage?” she whispered, the words past her lips before she could stop herself.

His eyes darkened, and she thought he dipped a little closer almost as if he was angling for her mouth. “I am angry, Bethany. Furious doesn’t begin to even-”

“No you’re not,” she breathed, stretching sort of deliberately, letting her breasts push against him; there was a hand on her hip a moment later, as if he was meaning to hold her in place. Instead it traced up the curve of her waist, stopping just shy of cupping her breast and she shivered. “You’re angry at the _repercussions_ of me being a mage. You’re not upset about me _being_ a mage.”

Surprise flickered through his expression. “Don’t be ridiculous-”

It was her turn to interrupt him. But she had no words to make a coherent argument so she did the next best thing. She threw her arms around his neck, catching him by surprise as she crossed the few inches between them to kiss him furiously.

She could taste herself on him, something alien and exciting, the taste of her own arousal. She moaned, lapping at his mouth, shocking him with her brazenness and tangling her tongue with his. His muffled grunt of surprise was thrilling; she hooked her leg around the back of his thigh and tugged, gasping when his weight came down soundly atop her.

“Oh Maker,” she mumbled, chasing his mouth when he pulled back. His body was hot and heavy and magnificent, his cock hard as it pressed into her hip. Her skin seemed to sizzle and spark where they lay tangled, and every little movement made her light headed with need.

He deftly avoided her attempts to kiss him, panting slightly, eyes wild. “Bethany,” he rasped, “have you no sense of self-preservation?”

At least she wasn’t the only one wondering if she was completely mad. She dragged her leg higher, over the curve of his hip; they both moaned as the movement urged them closer together, as intimately entwined as they could be without succumbing to that final moment. She shivered, head falling back and exposing her throat; a soft cry escaped her a moment later as his teeth grazed over her neck. “What good does it do me to fight you?” she whispered, her voice husky as he ran his mouth over her skin. “The game is up- you know I’m a mage. So if my life is to be snatched away from me, I’m not going to waste this moment with you.”

“Why would I dally with you?” he hissed, his body betraying him; the anger in his tone was substantially lessened as his lips trailed over her throat, biting firmly enough to leave a mark. He rolled his hips against her, the slide of their bodies finally uninhibited by clothing or manacles or silk sheets. “I’m a Templar, and you’re a mage. No good can come of it.”

She was growing dizzy from the wild lust seething within her; she let her other leg slide up the back of his calf, her body opening to provide a natural cradle for his hips. The groan he let out was desperate, and it matched her own. “You’re not angry at me for _being_ a mage,” she said, gasping for air as his cock pressed against her sex. “You’re angry because you don’t want to get _caught_ with a mage.”

“That’s not true,” he growled, sliding back above her so that he could glare down. The look he gave her made her feel all warm and shivery. “I don’t like or trust mages. My anger is completely justified, and I _am_ angry at you.”

“Then _stop kissing me_.”

He let out a frustrated groan before crushing his lips to hers again, kissing her so ferociously that she gasped, convinced she was about to taste blood any moment now.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” he said between gasps for air. “I could end you so easily-”

“I could say the same to you,” she panted, rubbing herself against his cock and feeling giddy when he moaned and bit down on her lip.

He laughed, somewhat bitterly. “So we’re both agreed that we don’t trust one another? Fabulous. What else does a man need to look for in a bedmate?”

His words stung, and she kissed him fiercely, ignoring the tears she felt pricking at her eyes. This was hardly the romantic interlude she’d dreamed of when she’d imagined the night she lost her virginity, but… “I have no intention of hurting you Cullen,” she said, gasping when his lips trailed over her skin and towards her ear. “If I’d wanted to escape you, I would have done so by now.”

He paused for a moment, panting desperately as he hung over her. “Why didn’t you run?” he asked, confusing and lust warring in his eyes. “Apart from, well, not knowing how to get out of the room, why endanger yourself? It’s not like you didn’t know who I was, what I do. Why did you tempt fate by trying to seduce me?”

“Because I like you!” The words blurted out before she could stop them, not that she could really regret them. She felt so raw and vulnerable right now, teetering between hysterical sobbing and wild, manic cackling, entwined with the last man in Thedas that she should feel attracted to. She was doing everything wrong. “And if I’m to lose my freedom and go to that wretched Circle, I’ll not go a virgin. I’ll… I’ll have one night to remember fondly. Even if you don’t, even if you hate me come the morning. I’ll have one memory where I felt beautiful.”

“You _are_ beautiful,” he responded instantly, without even a sliver of hesitation. One hand came up to her face, fingers running over her cheek softly. “Never doubt that.”

She smiled sadly, feeling the tears winning. “But I’m still a mage, right?” she whispered, the first tear rolling from the corner of her eye. She blinked rapidly to try and disperse them. “And that’s unforgiveable.”

He let out a frustrated growl. “Bethany, I’m a Templar,” he said angrily, “and you have no idea what I’ve suffered for that honour. I have every reason to not trust mages.”

He kissed her again, frustration and desperation driving his actions. She whimpered as his hands explored her, gasping when he seemed to know exactly where to touch or stroke or tease- or maybe it was more the fact that everything about this was so new and intense for her that _every_ touch drove her mad. Maybe given time, she would-

 _You won’t have time if he takes you to the Circle._

Her whimper of pleasure became a half-sob, the maelstrom of feelings inside of her finally getting the better of her.

Cullen paused, sensing the change in her mood. “Beth,” he whispered, the nickname tugging at her heart in a way that was entirely problematic. Her heart was not really supposed to be involved in this, after all.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Cullen,” she stammered, the trembling in her body not just from arousal now. “I’ll be fine in a moment, I just…” _I just don’t want to lose my freedom over some silly prank._

“We can stop,” he murmured, his eyes tender- there was understanding in those depths that she didn’t want to see. “This has gotten too far out of hand, and it might be better if we just… took a break, perhaps. Looked for the exit maybe.”

She took a deep breath, biting her lip to stop more tears from falling. “Cullen,” she said, daring to look him in the eye, “you said I was beautiful?”

His cheeks coloured briefly, but he nodded all the same. “You are beautiful,” he said firmly.

The next breath she held. “Are you going to take me to the Circle?”

Agonised indecision flared in his eyes immediately. “I have to, Beth. You know I do.”

Something in her heart withered and died. She tried not to let it show. “But before then… right now, I mean- would you, um, make love to me? To… show me what I’ll be missing?”

He kissed her, and she was expecting him to be fierce once more, offered freely what he had admitted to wanting, but he was soft. His lips brushed over hers tenderly, stealing the air from within her lungs; his fingers brushed slowly over her neck, cradling her jaw as he gently kissed her breathless. “Are you sure?” he murmured.

She had to laugh at that. “Well, given that we’ve been gyrating naked up against one another for the past half hour, I would have thought my consent was a given. Yes, Cullen, I’m sure.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said, rolling his hips slowly against hers; the rhythm made her moan as he repeated the motion over and over, and her legs clenched around his hips. “If you’re just not comfortable, or if you’re doing this to try and change my mind, which it isn’t-”

“Cullen,” she said, interrupting him by covering his mouth with hers, “ _please?_ ”

There were no more words between them for some time, just desperate kisses and breathless moans, both of them fighting to find enough air, both of them frantic not to lose contact. His hand slid between them and teased at her nub again, his fingers quickly slick with her arousal while she gasped against his mouth.

Her body accepted the first finger he slid inside of her, and she couldn’t help but wind herself around him even tighter; the second finger stretched her, not quite pleasure anymore and she tried to relax as he shushed her softly. She whimpered and turned her face into his chest when he removed his hand, instead positioning himself at her entrance.

“Bethany,” he whispered, “look at me.”

She managed to wrench herself up to face him, suddenly nervous and tense, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Are you alright?” He kissed her quickly, messily, desperation driving them both now. “Are you ready? Do you want me to stop?”

 _Now or never, Hawke._

She nodded frantically, before she lost her nerve. “Do it,” she whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry if this-”

“Oh Maker, Cullen, just do it!”

He didn’t need encouragement a second time; he kissed her frantically at the same time that he pressed forward, burying himself within her in one thrust.

“ _Ahh!_ ” Pressure or pain, she couldn’t quite tell, but Maker it was unpleasant; it was strong enough to be verging on sharp, but it didn’t seem fully right. But then of course she could _feel_ him, feel every twitch of his body, the fullness of having him buried deep within her. It was as marvellous as it was horrible. “Oh, _Void_ …”

“Beth, I’m _sorry_.” He was dotting kisses all over her face, panting raggedly, eyes wild when he caught her gaze. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you, I’m _sorry_.”

She was having trouble catching her breath, her head spinning at the overload of sensations. “Does it… get better?”

He nodded frantically, kissing her, his body trembling above her. “It does, I’ll make it better, I’m sorry.” He punctuated each word with another kiss. “Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?”

“Don’t stop,” she panted, and it was important that he didn’t, because she wouldn’t let herself give up now. Already the sharpest edge to the pain was fading, just an aching burn lingering as muscles never before used stretched to accommodate him. There was something building within her, something that might have been pleasure, but she couldn’t say for sure yet. It didn’t feel the same as when he kissed her between her legs, or stroked her there, but it felt… _more_. Her brain couldn’t really offer up anything more helpful to describe it. “Please-”

“Maker, Bethany, you feel so _good_.” He kissed her, _hard_ , his desperation a little further along than her own. “Please say you’re okay, say that you’re ready; I mean, I’ll stop if you need me to, but Maker, I really want-”

“Cullen,” she whimpered, “ _please?_ ”

She had nothing more eloquent than that in her repertoire, nothing else she could offer him. He was babbling and anxious and clearly closer to falling than she, and she’d be damned if she ruined this with her own ineptitude. But her plea was enough, or at least was comprehensible enough for him.

When he withdrew from her she moaned, her fingers clawing into his shoulders as the friction added a new element, the beginnings of pleasure. It was there, a tiny spark, like flint trying to ignite tinder; like the faint sizzle of magic humming through her veins, knowing it was there and wondering how on earth to harness it. He was watching her as he pushed back in, his mouth open as he fought for breath himself; she saw the flare in his eyes, the way he looked somewhat dazed and amazed for a moment and felt sure it was reflected in her own eyes.

He smiled tightly, the strain showing in his face. “Like that?” he rasped.

It was clearly too much for him, holding back like this. “More,” she whispered. She didn’t want it to be torturous for him, and so far it hadn’t proved awful. The pain had dissipated, and now there was just that feeling of fullness, the ache deep within her. But her skin still sparkled with sensation where their bodies entwined, and his kisses were delightful.

And there was something powerful about the way he stared down at her so desperately, his body trembling, his arms barely supporting his weight. Not that she really thought she should admit that. That seemed far too wanton for her first time.

The relief in his face as she urged him onwards was almost comical. He’d tried so hard to act the practised lover, the lothario with more experience than she could ever dream of; she didn’t want to laugh at him now, almost drunk on the feel of her body embracing his, but she thought it rather telling.

And then he moved against her, the slow slide in and out doing-

Oh.

He did it again, his body choosing a rhythm that seemed only natural for her to match-

 _Oh._

The hint of pleasure, the little teasing glimpse that she’d felt before, bloomed within her, rolling outwards like an uncontained wildfire. She gasped and sought his mouth out, finally aware of what this act could be, what it was that her brother and her friends craved when they sought a bedmate.

“You feel it?” he rasped, his hand seeking hers out, fingers twining together, clinging desperately between silken sheets.

That gesture, holding her hand while he showed her the wonders of making love, was probably the most intimate thing she had ever experienced. She clung to him, her fingers wrapped tight around his. “ _Cullen_ ,” she whispered, half sobbing, because she didn’t know what else to say; she didn’t even know if she could say anything else.

The rhythm he set pushed onwards, and her body had learned how to mirror him, her hips rolling up to meet his with each thrust. It pushed him a little deeper each time, and her thighs tightened around him instinctively each time. The pleasure within her bubbled upwards, pushing out to every limb, every finger and toe, and she didn’t quite know how much longer she was going to last. What was acceptable, in sex? Would it be completely embarrassing if she lost control in a matter of moments? Would he look at her in disgust, appalled by her lack of stamina or pace or whatever it was that sex was measured by?

“Don’t tense,” he murmured, nuzzling at the corner of her mouth. There was sweat beading on his brow, and she saw the need in his eyes peaking with every thrust, his lips twitching as if in a smirk with every soft cry she let out. “You were drifting.”

He did something, changed the angle or the pace or something, and a wild shiver ran through her; her head fell back against the pillow with a needy sob. “Don’t want to disappoint you,” she whimpered.

His mouth was on her neck, her jaw, hot and wet and teeth scraping and fierce, biting kisses. “You don’t disappoint,” he rasped. His rhythm was unbroken, and but it was growing a little frenetic, a little less controlled. His breath was jerky and uneven, and she could feel it on her skin, against her ear. “Oh, Maker, _Beth_ …”

She didn’t know what to do with her feet, because she’d reached a point where it was too much, too much too soon and she wanted to dig into the mattress with them, she wanted to wrap them around his waist, she wanted to plant them on the back of his thighs and just push up against him, and she didn’t know what was right, or what to do- “ _Cullen_ ,” she sobbed, and it was almost the only word left in her vocabulary.

His hand tightened around hers, and he was there again, his forehead pressed against hers, his eyes dazed and desperate staring down at her. “Bethany,” and she’d never thought her name sounded more wonderful than when he whispered it like that, “sweetheart, are you close? Are you ready?”

How could he still _talk?_ That seemed absurdly unfair. “ _Cullen._ ”

“Beth, _tell me!_ Are you ready?”

She whimpered, feeling her body falling from her control. They were slick with sweat, sliding together magnificently; all she could feel was heat and pleasure and delicious coiling tension that left her feeling raw and desperate.

“Beth!”

“Yes,” she moaned, only holding on by the slimmest of threads. “Maker, _yes._ ”

He kissed her, needy and messy and without any talent whatsoever; his hand was wrapped so tightly around hers that she felt certain she would hear the bones crack at any moment. But he kept moving, his hips rocking against her, his stomach flush with hers, his chest crushing her breasts, the whole affair slick and sweaty and hot and fast and Maker-

 _Maker Almighty._

She choked first, trying to gasp as it began and not managing it well; he broke away from her just marginally, a groan passing from his lips. She sucked in a lungful of air, her vision already winking in front of her as she arched, her body surging and heaving and shivering and shaking. He rode her through it all, the last of his movements jerky and uncontrolled as he sought his own release. On her second gasp, she let out a broken sort of scream, sobbing while her feet scrabbled for purchase on the bed, on him, anywhere.

It was different from the first ending he had given her, the one with his mouth, because this was simply everywhere, burning all through her, and he was everywhere, above her, within her, lost with her, and she _couldn’t_ -

She took a third breath and screamed.


	8. Chapter 8

She remembered very little of the next few minutes, only frantic kisses that took their time to slow, desperate whispers that could have been her sobbing his name, or him chanting her name. Or maybe they were words, maybe they managed a full conversation and she just couldn’t grasp anything more than sounds and intent. The feelings, the sensations, _the pressure_ \- none of it receded as quickly as she would have expected, whimpering as she clung to him, feeling him holding her just as tightly in response. 

She couldn’t seem to stop moving, shivering as the pleasure took it’s time to ebb away, little pulses making her coo and murmur against his mouth as her hands kept moving and her body trembled. He seemed to be struck by the same affliction, nipping gently at her lips before his strength finally gave out and he collapsed atop her. His weight was stunning- not necessarily bad, certainly impressive. When she gasped for air he grunted a vague apology and slipped to the side, dragging her with him.

Now that the feverish pace had ended, she had time to get her breath back and let her mind slip away, lost in the wash of giddy, trembling feelings that none of her friends had ever described with any sort of accuracy. She could feel him breathing, hot air burning her forehead, chest pressing into hers with every rapid in and out. There was a beautiful rhythm to be found there, between his ragged breathing and his frantic heartbeat, and something entrancing about the hard expanse of him- all muscles and angles and sharp, chiselled edges- entwined in a sweat soaked mess with her softness and curves.

She found herself lost, curled against his chest and listening to the frantic pace of his heart. His skin was a few shades darker than her own, a legacy of days spent in training yards and on patrol, and there was a freckle on his shoulder that was just completely fascinating. She found herself contemplating how he would respond if she licked it, and whether that made her quite mad, because it was something she found she’d really, really like to do. 

And she was starting to ache now, her muscles burning as if she’d just tried to run from Lowtown to Hightown and back, under the fierce midday sun. And the flesh between her thighs throbbed with sensation, little twinges pricking at her with every movement- and they weren’t precisely pleasant either. But it was all glorious, all part and parcel of this glorious experience he had given her, and even though she knew she would _hurt_ come morning, it was so very worth it now.

“Bethany,” he whispered hoarsely, his hands hot and flat against her back as he pulled her even closer. She felt his lips against her brow, and she returned his affection by turning in to him and nuzzling against his neck. 

They fell asleep like that, limbs entwined, still slick with sweat and _other things_ \- oh _Maker_ , it was enough to have her squirming from embarrassment just thinking about it- but she was too happily lethargic to voice any objection to it. 

And really, falling asleep with his arms around her was more marvellous than she ever could have imagined, aches and twinges aside.

***

When she drifted up from sleep, warm and lazy, it took her a moment to realise what was different. The bed was luxurious, and huge- almost bigger than she knew what to do with- but that wasn’t the issue. She stretched out over the satin, a little moan of delight escaping her at the opulence of it; her hands reached out, hunting-

She cracked open one eye when she found nothing but warm sheets and the faint indentation where a body had been until recently. Cullen was very noticeably not in the bed with her.

She couldn’t decide which emotion was more potent- panic or shame. He had _left her_ , he had seduced her and enjoyed her and left her and now he was on his way to fetch the guard, or the Templars, or-

“You’re awake.”

Relief swamped her, followed quickly after by embarrassment. Of course he hadn’t gone anywhere, they still had no way of escaping this room. With very careful movements she collected the blanket to her chest as she sat up, wrapping it around herself as she glanced around for him. 

He was sitting in the chair, watching the bed; he’d had the same idea as her, and had appropriated a blanket to tie about his waist. He looked… pensive. Not at all the easy, smirking smile that she would have hoped to see on the face of her first lover. 

She licked suddenly dry lips, holding the blankets closer to her. “Cullen,” she whispered, trying not to word it as a question. She had far, far too many questions and yet… if she voiced them, would she come across as needy? What could possibly be the expected etiquette in a situation like this? _Apostate and Templar Captain locked in a room and succumb to wild love making, how can there possibly be any precedent for this?_ She’d been expecting to wake up still wrapped around him, breathing in the smell of his body and the smell of their coupling, and instead she had this.

Two strangers staring at each other silently across a room.

He cleared his throat and sat forward, resting his arms on his knees. She tried not to pay attention to the ripple of his muscles as he did so, she really did, but the man was a _work of art_. It would be a crime not to appreciate what was there on show for her to ogle. “Bethany,” he began, very pointedly not looking at her. She felt her blood run cold. “I’ve had… some time to think about what transpired between us, and I think-”

She whimpered, and immediately bit her lip, trying to hide it. It was too late, however- he looked up sharply at the sound, eyes lighting with surprise. “Bethany? Are you alright?”

She covered the lower half of her face with her hands, mostly to hide her trembling lip. And then she just couldn’t find the way to make her jaw work, to make words come out, and another of those wretched noises came out, because _oh Maker_ it wasn’t supposed to be this cold and this awkward, and was he actually going to just set her aside like this after what they’d just gone through?

Understanding seemed to dawn in his eyes and he sat a little straighter in the chair. He also had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Bethany,” he said, and saying her name for a third time seemed somewhat prophetic, like the binding of an enchantment. She tried not to shiver as the idea flitted through her head- she doubted a Templar would appreciate the thought. But then he surprised her, saying the last thing she expected him to say. “Come here.”

She blinked at him, her perilously teary mood swinging back in the other direction again. “What-?”

“I said _come here_ ,” he repeated, his eyes hardening slightly in the dimly light room. Something about his tone sent a shiver skittering along her spine as she slid towards the edge of the bed. Her feet touched down on the plush carpet, and she took one step forward- “Without the sheet,” he said firmly.

Colour danced along her cheeks. “You have a sheet,” she pointed out, her voice wobbling.

“I didn’t say anything about my sheet, I was talking about yours. Leave it on the bed.”

Her blush deepened, but she steeled herself and said “If you’re just going to throw me out once you’re done with me, I’d rather keep my dignity for the remainder of our time together.”

Something sparked to life in his eyes, but he still hardly moved in the chair. “Are you saying that what we did together was undignified? Or beneath you?”

“Stop twisting my words! I didn’t say-”

“Then leave the sheet and come here.”

Her lip trembled. “No,” she said, “not until I know I’m not making a fool of myself.”

The hint of a smile tweaked at his lips. “Can I ask you to trust me, then? Trust me for a few more minutes, at the very least.”

She stared at him, blanket clutched tightly around her, fingers twisted fiercely into the material. And then she swallowed. “Okay,” she whispered, not sure where she’d found the courage to answer him.

The sheet went fluttering to the floor, and the way his hands tightened on the arms of the chair was more than a little telling.


	9. Chapter 9

For a blessed moment she felt nothing but a smug thrill, and it felt deliciously wicked instead of awkwardly embarrassing. His eyes roamed over her, and his fingers tightened on the arm of the chair as she took her first step forward. But… the moment didn’t last, and the thrill turned to adrenalin, the adrenalin to fear, and her skin felt like it was crawling, and…

It was too much- she didn’t have the confidence that Isabela had, or the conceit that Garrett had. She couldn’t stand here, facing this man, not knowing his intentions and whether she was even safe with him. He had promised to take her away, that her fate was as good as sealed. He asked her to trust him, even knowing that. He asked for her body, and she was poised on the verge of succumbing yet again. Her cheeks burned, and the desire to cover herself was almost over powering; for a moment her arms came up, her hands fluttering gawkily over her stomach.

His eyes dropped down, following the movement of her fingers as they ineffectively covered her skin. She stumbled slightly, too preoccupied with watching him, and then righted herself quickly. His gaze came back up to hers as she hesitated. 

“I told you to come here,” he murmured, but his breathing was a little shallow, and his pupils were dark and wide. She might be inexperienced in many things, but she knew enough to read his body language. It wasn’t like he was making his intentions a great secret.

Crossing her arms, trying her best to look defiant, she said “I’m not in the mood to take orders, _ser_ ,” and then paused. It felt like she was covering herself, hiding, so she dropped her hands back down to her sides, fists clenched. “Since I’ll be taking orders soon enough anyway, I’d rather not now when it’s still my choice.”

He had the decency to look uncomfortable, and his gaze flittered away, fixed somewhere over her left shoulder. “That’s not fair, Beth-”

“It’s the truth,” she said, gritting her teeth to stop from babbling. It was painful to admit, and it settled low in her belly like icy stones. The panic she had felt at waking alone had not abandoned her after all, and there was too much in her: lust battling dread, desire waging against anger, a cacophony of emotions that she couldn’t silence. She felt her lip trembling, despite her best efforts to control herself. “You are bound by law to take me in. You wouldn’t be the Knight Captain if you weren’t a man who excelled at doing his duty.”

Anger flashed across his features for a brief moment, visible for long enough for her to feel a spike of stark fear, but he smoothed it over. “I’m at just as much risk as you,” he said, each word bitten off with more force than was necessary. “There is no need for you to act like some jilted doxy just because-”

The insult lashed at her, the sting of it enough to make her stomach roll, but it set a fire in her blood as well. “Just because _what_ , Captain?” she snarled, surprised at her own vehemence as she stalked forward and stabbed her finger into his chest. “We have come full circle, have we? I’m back to being the simpleton in your assessment, the woman fit to be wooed and tumbled because she’s too stupid to know otherwise?”

“You were perfectly content with my company half an hour ago!” he said, his voice rising in anger to match hers. He started to stand, his arms braced on the chair as he levered upright. “More than content, I’d say, based on the begging and mewling-”

Bethany planted her hand firmly in the centre of his chest and shoved him backwards. “Have a care for what you say, Cullen,” she said, dangerously soft, “for there is no one here to witness what a _simpleton_ mage might do to an undefended Templar.”

“You forget yourself, Miss Hawke,” he snarled, “and you forget that I am not as helpless as you seem to think I am! I am the Knight Captain of Kirkwall and I will _not_ be spoken to like that!”

Slivers of ice bloomed outwards from her hands. “And I am Bethany Hawke- lacking a fancy title to help boost my self-esteem like some people require, but I will not be treated so poorly!”

“A mage locked alone with a Templar- this was only going to end one way.” He met her shove with his own, and as he lurched to his feet she squeaked in horror when she felt the cold sweep of _something_ against her soul. The ice fell away from her hand, the cold instead leeching inwards and surging through her body as if she’d just plunged into a frozen river. Her knees weakened and she wobbled but as she staggered backwards, he followed. The sheet around his waist fell to the floor, leaving him as naked as her, but nudity was the least of her concerns right now.

When his arm went around her waist, keeping her upright as she reeled, she gaped at him. “You did this,” she gasped, scrabbling to get her feet under her, trying to push away from him. Her limbs _burned_ from cold, and her blood had turned to icy sludge in her veins. “This is-”

“A simple Cleanse,” he snapped, but his face had gone white and sweat had broken out on his brow. _Maybe not as simple as he’d have liked_ , she thought frantically. They grappled uselessly for a moment, both weakened. “You’ve done well not to have encountered one before now. We use it to dispel hostile magic-”

There was a intense frost in her bones, as if he’d thrust the cold back inside of her against her will, like a thousand tiny needles of ice stabbing at her, but she gritted her teeth. “Dispel _this_ ,” she snarled, stumbling backwards as she shoved a blast of ice right at his chest. 

It hurt to cast, still burdened by the Cleanse, but she managed it; desperation spurred her onwards. The force of the spell, in such close quarters, threw them both clear of each other. Bethany hit the floor with a pained grunt, the air rushing from her lungs; a few feet away she heard Cullen crash to the ground, taking the chair with him in a crunch of wood and a shout of pain and anger. Gasping, still aching from the repressed magic in her flesh, she staggered to her feet using the bedpost as a prop to hold her weight. 

Opposite her, she saw Cullen floundering about on the floor, and couldn’t help the slither of fear that ran down her spine when she saw the streak of blood on his forehead. She’d just attacked the Knight Captain of Kirkwall. _Maker_ \- she’d attacked a bloody _Templar!_ There was no hope for her now. 

The dazed expression lingered in his eyes as he managed to climb to his knees, and he brushed ineffectively at the crisp ice clinging to his chest; there was an angry red sheen to his skin as he swept it away, the cold so severe that the frost had burned him. 

Father had always said she’d been good at ice. Guess he’d been right. 

With a roar Cullen surged to his feet and ran straight at her; squealing in alarm, she brought her hands up to blast him again, but the room was small and he was on her before the thought to defend had even formed properly in her head. She screamed as he tackled her around the middle, his intention clearly to keep her from using her hands in any more aggressive spellcasting. The impact threw them both backwards, sprawling over the bed, a tangle of limbs and teeth and clawing nails and elbows and fury. Momentum carried them further, and they both screeched as they went tumbling over the far edge and crashing to the floor.

He landed underneath, cursing foully enough that she would have blushed at his choice of words a week ago. She grunted as the impact with the floor jarred her knee and knocked the wind from her yet again. She lay atop him, all too aware of how very naked she was, and how she was sprawled across his lap, a more intimate position than she’d prefer. Choking for air, she batted at his hands and tried to break free while he did his best to catch his breath and keep his grip on her. 

It probably wasn’t one of her better life choices- literally fighting for her life, stark naked, with the man she had very recently lost her virginity to. She’d had better days.


	10. Chapter 10

She was weakened from the Cleanse, but he hadn’t been at full strength when he’d wielded it against her in the first place, and he’d survived two direct hits of ice, so despite his superior strength they were on relatively even footing. When he tried to roll her she kept her balance, knees either side of his hips to trap him, but when she tried to slap his hands away he snarled and tightened his fingers around her wrist until she gasped.

It was angry, furious, frustrated, and she had no delusions about what was happening here. She was fighting for her life here. But she was also very aware of the heat of his body against the chill that still burned in her, and the way her body slid against his as they grappled for the upper hand over each other. She didn’t want to notice how very naked he was, but it was a bit hard to ignore. And she didn’t want to find him attractive, or notice how his cock grew delightfully firm against her belly, because dammit he’d tried to disarm her! And maybe she kissed him first, or perhaps he kissed her, but the frustration was suddenly very different, and when he tried to roll her again she fought him off again. 

He tore away from her mouth long enough to hiss “Are you completely mad?” before kissing her again and ignoring any response she might have tried to give. 

“Most likely,” she gasped when he broke for air, exulting in the way the sweat on their bodies let her slide against him.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed then?” he growled, biting at her lip with more force than affection. She accepted the aggression, strangely thrilled by the knowledge that she could push him so far to the edge of control. And she wasn’t exactly calm either- she nipped him right back. His hand was buried in her hair, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but she returned his ferocity bite for bite, bruise for bruise. 

“I was a lost cause anyway,” she panted, grinding her hips down against his rapidly hardening cock, delighted at the shudder of pleasure it evoked in both of them. “You were going to take me in.”

“You could have been polite about-”

She kissed him so hard that she tasted blood- his or hers, she wasn’t sure. They’d been scrapping enough that it could have been either, and the blood on his forehead still glistened as well. “I’ll not be a lapdog to the Captain as well as a prisoner.”

He grunted and shifted beneath her, and her whimper matched his groan when he pressed at her entrance. “You’re a stubborn woman,” he growled, his hands spanned over her hips as he urged her to a better position. 

“I’m a _sensible_ woman,” she moaned, rocking back and forth over his cock, gasping at the sensations he roused in her. “However questionable that claim might be at the moment.”

“Maker, you’re infuriating is what you are,” he said, using one hand to guide himself into her body. Confident, he thrust upwards quickly, his hips slamming against hers as they came together. 

She dropped her head down involuntarily, a murmur of pain forcing its way past her gritted teeth despite her best efforts. It wasn’t as bad as the first time, that wary line between pain and pressure that was for the most part overwhelming more than anything else. She didn’t realise she was panting, or that she had her hand planted in the centre of his chest for balance until his fingers covered hers. She glanced up at him from between the fall of her hair. 

His expression was pained, eyes still bright with anger and passion as he said “You weren’t ready.” His own breathing was shallow, and his fingers were strangely gentle, stroking at the back of her hand.

She shifted herself with a small grimace, hips adjusting in an attempt to find a more comfortable angle, planting her other hand above his shoulder. “Probably not,” she admitted. “Are you going to fix that?”

He didn’t need prompting more than once; he buried his hand in her hair again and tugged her down, kissing her so furiously that she had to tear free just to find the space to breathe. As he kissed her he rocked against her, slowly at first but with a sort of ruthless rhythm that had her tensing and moving with him in no time. The discomfort faded after a few moments as her body adjusted to his girth, and when he growled and thrust harder she whimpered and pushed back, meeting him stroke for stroke. 

His hand was on her back, on her ass, controlling her, moving her; her hands were on his neck, his shoulders, in his hair, cradling his head and tilting him back so that she could kiss him desperately. His body warmed her, chasing away the chill that he’d inflicted on her and on a flitting thought she squeezed a hand between them, using the rolling rhythm to her advantage as she ran her hand over his chest. Magic sparkled in the wake of her fingers, and when he gasped at the sensation of the healing she silenced any objection he might make with a kiss.

Panting, delicious tension coiling in her body, she propped herself back onto her knees, doing her best not to break the pace he’d set. His chest was flushed with colour and slick with sweat, but there was no sign of the ice burn that had lurked there a few moments earlier. He patted at the skin, panting just as desperately as her, and there was anger warring with relief in his eyes when he looked back at her. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he croaked, reaching out to dance his hands along the curve of her hips and up to her breasts.

She shuddered in delight, smug at his reluctant tone. “There are a lot of things I shouldn’t have done today,” she said, doing her best to seem confident about it. She tried to speed the rhythm, whimpering as he toyed with her nipples, aching for something more, for the pressure in her to lead to that blissful nothingness from earlier. She could feel it building, taunting her at a distance, but she didn’t know how to get there herself. 

Her impatience must have shown, for he laughed- more of a snicker, really- and traced the outline of her lips with one hand. “Maker take it all, what am I doing,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, and then slipped one hand up the inside of her thigh to the dark, sodden curls covering her. Dropping his other hand from her mouth to her hip, he guided her movements as he slid a single finger between her legs and rubbed gently at the tiny nub of flesh between.

The effect on her was electric, pleasure spiking through her from the single touch; she arched violently and only his firm hold on her hip kept her in place. His chuckle was smug and she whimpered and bit into her lip as he did it again. “So you like to be touched, and you like to be kissed,” he drawled softly, grunting as she moved a little too desperately. Her pace was increasing, her movements a little more erratic. Her thoughts were scattered, and every time he crooked his finger and rubbed again she cried out and tried not to lose herself.

It was sweaty and desperate and there was still the threat of anger humming in the air between them, but by the Maker she felt so alive. She threw her head back and sobbed towards the ceiling, lost in the moment, the desperate, angry passion and the confusing well of emotions she felt for the man beneath her. With each flick of his finger she spiralled a little higher; with each thrust of his hips she lost a little more control.

“Cullen,” she gasped, the moment surging closer, her heart hammering in her ears as she rode him wildly.


	11. Chapter 11

“Bethany,” he rasped, his own eyes feverish, his hips jerking upwards without rhythm. They were wild, lost, frenzied even. She could feel her body aching already from the exertion, even as the pressure and the pleasure increased. 

There came a moment where his cock just seemed to fit her so perfectly, and his hands on her felt perfect, and she was near to sobbing from the build-up. It all came together in one glorious, exquisite moment, and she felt him tensing beneath her as she came apart completely. With a desperate sob, she arched above him, her body locking up in that superb rush of pleasure. The rolling wave of it surged through her, like ripples in a pond, and as she cried out in exhausted delight she heard his hoarse cry follow closely on the heels of her own. 

She fell against him, and after a moment his arms came up around her, and she felt a kiss against the side of her brow. Lost in the slowly easing haze of the climax, awash in the afterglow, she drifted off without thinking better of it. 

***

The exhaustion wasn’t one sided. When she woke, however long it was later, they were still entwined on the floor, sweat cooling on their bodies and their hearts beating at a more sensible rate. Cullen’s eyes were closed, a hint of shadow beneath them, and for a moment she allowed herself the luxury of simply staring, letting her thoughts collect at their own pace.

She’d done a stupid thing. A monumentally stupid thing. Granted, Isabela had clearly had nothing but mischief on her mind when she’d set this little trap, but Bethany could have been stronger. No, scrap that, she _should_ have been stronger; now she’d succumbed not once but _twice_ , and what did she have to show for it? A few bruises, a few bite marks, and a time limit on her freedom. She could feel the noose tightening, the Gallows looming ominously over her. 

That didn’t change the fact that what they’d done together was glorious, that her body was still humming in satisfaction despite the ache between her legs. It didn’t change the fact that watching him sleep stirred restless feelings in her, a pang of longing and desire that she couldn’t stamp out. Asleep, he seemed younger, the burdens of his role set aside for a few brief hours. Unable to help herself, she reached out a hand and brushed her fingers across his cheek; there was just a hint of stubble, enough to rub at the pads of her fingers softly, and he murmured in his sleep and turned towards her hand. When he opened his eyes a few moments later, her palm was flat against his cheek, cradling gently.

He stiffened briefly, his hand halfway up to grab at her wrist, when recognition dawned in his eyes and he relaxed. “Bethany,” he said softly, then hesitated as his gaze focussed somewhere over her shoulder. 

She smiled weakly, at a loss herself. “Back to square one, I suppose,” she whispered, feeling her lip wobble slightly. “Still naked, still with no way out of here.”

He didn’t answer, instead frowning and easing himself up onto one elbow. His silence was unnerving, and she wedged her own elbow under herself. “Cullen?” she asked, biting her lip to stop herself from babbling. 

His voice was heavy with suspicion as he said “There’s a bookshelf missing.” As his words sunk in and she spun to look, he continued. “And a door there now.”

One of the bookshelves was indeed gone, just as he’d said- in its place was a dark wooden door, looking to all intents and purposes as if it had been there the whole time. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, stunned by the implication. “Do you suppose it’s a trap?” she breathed, staring at the door as if it were about to morph into a demon. “I mean… I looked really carefully before, there was definitely no door there.”

Frowning, he touched her firmly on the shoulder, as if to indicate silence, and climbed carefully to his feet. She tried not to stare as he did so, but her blush must have given her away. It was impossible not to look though- the man was a work of art. The way his muscles flexed as he moved, the taut control and careful movements, his finely sculpted ass… 

Scowling at herself for stopping to ogle at a time like this, she scrambled to her feet and snatched one of the velvet blankets from the bed to wrap around herself. Tucking it firmly, she shuffled over to where he stood by the wall, running his fingers against the seam of the door. 

And tried not to stare at his muscular back and perfect ass as she did so. Not that she’d seen a lot of asses in her time, or… well, any, really. But she knew instinctively that Cullen had a damn fine backside, regardless of how many she had or hadn’t seen. She felt a little smug to know that she’d had the opportunity to grab at it desperately while lost in the throes of-

“See this here?” Cullen said, apparently oblivious to her lascivious thoughts. “Almost seamless- there must be a wall panel of some kind, but I can’t see where it comes out. There’s something along this edge of the door that makes me think that-”

“Cullen,” Bethany interrupted, suddenly dizzy from fear, “what if it’s a trap?” 

_And more importantly, what if it wasn’t?_

The door was expensive, and well crafted, just like everything else in their sensual little prison. The wood was dark and rich, the panels intricately carved with some sort of debauched woodland party. Bethany blushed as the two of them inspected it, and she was certain she could see colour in Cullen’s cheeks as well.

“If it’s a trap, we’ll deal with that,” he said grimly. “It’s more important that we find our way out of here, and find out wherever _here_ is.” He reached for the brass doorknob, and Bethany couldn’t stop herself from reaching out and covering his hand before he could try the lock.

“Don’t,” she whispered, ashamed to feel tears pricking at her eyes. “Please don’t open it, Cullen.”

He scowled at her. “We don’t have time for games, Bethany,” he said, not picking up on her mood. “We need to find out where we are and how to get home again.”

She swallowed, trying to hold onto the tears so as not to make a fool of herself. “Precisely,” she whispered. Surely he wasn’t that daft; surely he was capable of making the very obvious connection and not just leave her hanging like this. She clutched the velvet to her even tighter, wishing that she’d had the opportunity to face this threat with dignity. Preferably fully clothed, and perhaps minus the multiple sexual encounters with the man who was going to be her jailer. 

After several agonisingly long seconds, he blinked, realisation dawning in his eyes; he was gracious enough to look uncomfortable. “Miss Hawke,” he began, but she cut him off.

“I know you have to do your job, and I’m sorry I attacked you, and I’m sorry that all of this has happened,” she babbled, waving a hand back towards the opulent room. The fact that he had retreated back to a more formal form of address did not bode well for her. “I really don’t know what’s going on, or who did this, and I wish that it had been anything but this, because I really don’t want to go to the Gallows, I really don’t, and-”

“Miss Hawke,” he said, trying again.

“And I’m sorry that you got caught up in all of this because you didn’t deserve it, and I know you don’t think highly of me, and while I can wish that that was different, the fact of the matter is that I’m a mage and you are-”

He swung around and took her by the shoulders, firmly tugging her forward until her back was pressed up against the door. She opened her mouth to ask what he thought he was doing, and he covered it with his own, kissing the words right out of her mouth. For a moment she was tense, her hands still clutched desperately into the front of the velvet, holding her dignity in place, before his hand came up to stroke gently at the side of her neck, brushing little patterns just beneath her ear as he kissed her.

She sighed against his mouth, tremulous and fragile, but his kiss was gentle, his hands even more so. When she finally relaxed, leaning into the line of his body, he pulled away from her; not far, just far enough to speak freely.


	12. Chapter 12

“I can’t promise you freedom, Bethany,” he said softly, not meeting her eyes properly, “but I can promise you time. I can stall, for a while at least, but I can’t do _nothing_. Especially not if it’s revealed that I knew all along- then we will both be the worse off for it.”

Her eyes burned from the tears she was holding back as they came back to the same old point yet again. She wouldn’t cry; she wouldn’t beg for her freedom. She had more pride than that. “What do you mean by time? So I have… tomorrow? A week? A month? _A decade?_ ”

His smile was slightly bitter as he played with a strand of her hair, coiling the dark curl around his finger. “I can’t tell you that,” he said, “because I don’t know how long I can keep it hidden. It’s up to you not to out yourself in public, to avoid suspicion. If you condemn yourself, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

She felt a tear escape from her lashes, despite her best efforts. She hated herself for that moment of weakness. “I understand,” she croaked, feeling the room tilt several degrees off balance. This was a good thing! The Knight Captain himself was privy to her terrible secret, and yet had agreed to keep it for the time being? She couldn’t dream of better luck if she tried! And yet…

… why did it feel like she’d had her ribcage hollowed out, like the space below her shoulders was an empty, echoing chamber? It ached, like an old injury, and it was quite hard to breathe in that moment, as if everything was far too tight, muscles and bones and blood locking up against her. All she wanted was to have her freedom, wasn’t it? And here she had it! All she wanted was the chance to run home to her mother, to her stupid brother, and tell them that she was safe and there was nothing to worry about, that things were taken care of. She was free!

And yet she ached, and she wasn’t sure why.

She nodded brusquely instead. No point trying to understand- nothing about this day made any sort of sense, it was foolish of her to start trying now. “I… thank you, Captain,” she said. “I appreciate the risks you take.”

His look was pained, but tender, as his fingers brushed down her cheek softly. She fought not to just shiver and droop back against the door, head tilted back and neck offered up for his mouth. “It is…” He struggled for a moment, his throat working as he swallowed uncomfortably. “Nothing,” he said after the hesitation. “It is nothing.”

 _Oh Maker, Bethany, what are you doing?_ She found herself staring at his lips, wondering if it would be the polite thing at all to offer him a kiss in thanks. By the look in his eyes, she was already pushing her luck, and she knew he would not withhold his duty for her forever. But what was a kiss? Short and simple and just an expression of gratitude? “By your same reasoning,” she murmured, well aware of how close she had swayed to his mouth, “it would probably be best if we were not seen together again. Ever.”

He was nodding his agreement, and maybe she was imagining the way he leaned in a little closer. “Under any circumstances,” he mumbled, his thumb dancing over her pulse point. She shivered. 

“The risks are too high,” she whispered, stretching slightly on her toes, lifting that little bit closer to him. She could taste him, feel the heat of his breath on her mouth. 

It was the wrong thing to say, however, because suddenly there was space between them, the warmth of his body not quite so encompassing; there a slight spark of panic in his eyes. “I’m well aware of the risks, Miss Hawke, I’m not-”

“I mean, we can’t even leave together,” she said quickly, her stomach churning at that look and the fact that she was back to _Miss Hawke._ She didn’t want him to think her a simpleton, drat it. She didn’t _want_ to care for his opinion! She didn’t want to crave his warmth, even if it seemed much cooler without his arms wrapped around her. _She did not want to place her heart in the hands of a Templar!_

 _Andraste’s Breath, girl, you came so close to throwing yourself at him again! Be thankful we’re free of that!_

“Obviously,” he said, still frowning. He seemed awkward now, embarrassed slightly, if the way he avoided looking her in the eye was any indication. “I don’t see what-”

“One of us will have to risk the door-” She felt a surge of horror even at the mere suggestion, and her throat worked as if fighting the urge to throw up “- and see if we’re in any danger. To see if we can escape.”

He only frowned at her. Or rather, near her, since he didn’t want to meet her gaze.

 _Oh Maker, he can’t be that dense._ “I’m not going out there naked,” she blurted out, face flushing scarlet yet again. “You’ll have to do it.”

It was his turn to colour, the red in his cheeks stupidly adorable. She ignored the way her heart leapt at the sight of it. “Miss Hawke, I have a reputation to uphold,” he said stiffly. “It cannot do for the Knight Captain to be seen wandering about wrapped only in a-”

“Well, the alternative is to stay in here until whoever trapped us in the first place comes for us,” she said, furious at herself for the shrill note that crept into her voice. “And given that that could be _never_ , or it could be at the head of a patrol of Templars, or it-”

There was a knock on the door.

They both froze. Bethany didn’t even breathe, and she knew the panic Cullen felt was mirrored in her own expression. He looked utterly horrified, dumbstruck to the point that he was simply gaping at her, eyes bugging out from his head. The knock came a second time, and Bethany couldn’t help the squeak of terror that burst out from between her lips. Cullen seemed to regain some measure of courage or levelheadedness, for he tugged her away from the door, arms gripping her tightly as he pulled her slightly behind him.

The fool didn’t even seem to care that he was utterly naked, but he straightened with a look of steel in his eyes and she melted despite her best efforts not to. She must have made some whimper of approval, for he cast a quick glance back over his shoulder at her, heat and embarrassment kindling in his eyes for a moment.

Turning his gaze away from her again- although his grip was firm on her arms- he faced the door as he called out “Who goes there?” It seemed overly formal to her, but then… it wasn’t really like she had any idea of precedent for a situation like this. At this point anything seemed fair game, really- maybe Flemeth would walk through the door to greet them.

The doorknob moved, as if someone had taken hold of it from the far side, and they both tensed. Cullen’s fingers dug into her skin almost painfully, but he ignored her moan of protest. The brass sphere turned slowly, twisting noiselessly, and the door made no sound at all as it swept quietly open- no creak of protest, no groan at having long gone without use. “Who-” Cullen didn’t get any further than that, for an elf woman crossed briskly into the room carrying a splendid silver tea set- all while completely blindfolded.

She navigated the room with ease, even though the furniture had to have moved since the two of them had been locked in, and she set the tray down on the small table as they gaped at her. She was so precise that there wasn’t even a clatter of porcelain as she began to arrange the plates artfully for a simple tea service. 

Bethany and Cullen looked at each other, baffled and still on edge; Cullen stared for a long moment at the open door, and the prospect of freedom. He was obviously tempted, drawn by the idea of fleeing and not looking back. She didn’t know if she could even blame him- this was a colossal, glorious, awful mess. A mage and a Templar- the Knight Captain at that, with an unHarrowed apostate? He could run, say she’d entrapped him, tricked him, seduced him without his consent. Mind control. _Blood magic._

No one would believe her.

She held her breath, but she must have tensed noticeably, for he shook himself and glanced quickly at her. She couldn’t read him- was that guilt she saw there? Fear? Desire? _Shame?_

Maker, what was _she_ feeling?

Their little moment was broken by the elf woman turning back towards them, the empty tray in her hands- she’d set out the entire tea service, without so much as spilling a drop of the hot liquid, and all while blindfolded. She bowed politely in their direction, her expression revealing nothing. “Your clothing has been completely laundered, and will be returned to you shortly,” she said pleasantly. “In the meantime, please enjoy these refreshments, courtesy of your hosts.”

She went to leave, and Cullen stepped in front of her. She stopped instantly, not even stumbling; her expression never wavered. “Is something the matter, messere?” she asked politely. “Do you require any additional assistance? Perhaps a third?”

Thanks to weeks of Isabela and her lewd innuendos, Bethany knew exactly what the woman was insinuating and couldn’t help her gasp of astonishment at the brazen offer. From the deep red that Cullen turned, he obviously wasn’t as dense as he seemed to be sometimes- he at least understood what the offer of a third meant. “That won’t be necessary,” he snapped, casting a quick, nervous glance at Bethany. “Where are we? Why are we being held prisoner?”

The woman nodded respectfully. “My apologies for the confusion messere,” she said, “but you are not prisoners. Your accommodations were fully paid for in advance by another guest. Her instructions were quite explicit- you were not to be disturbed until you had resolved your differences.” Her lips twitched, as if she was fighting not to smile at the unspoken ‘ _and you clearly have_ ’.

“ _She_ ,” Cullen snarled, his hands tightening on Bethany until she grunted in protest; thankfully he relented. “I demand to know who this _she_ is, and where to find her.”

“Unacceptable, messere,” she said calmly. “That was not in the terms of her contract with my mistress. Anonymity is tantamount, and we take the privacy of our clients very seriously.”

“I don’t care what your mistress agreed to,” he said, reaching for her. Bethany tried to grab at his hand to stop him, but he batted her aside. “What I want-”

“Messere, I would advise you not to move,” the woman said calmly, as if there wasn’t a six foot wall of naked muscle in front of her ready to throttle her. Granted, she couldn’t see him, but she had to sense the threat in his tone, feel the hostility in the air. “If you make any untoward moves in my direction, the gentleman standing just beyond the door will be forced to enter to encourage you to step back, and he is most distressed whenever I ask him to do that. It would be better for everyone if you just remained calm and accepted these refreshments, and just relax until your clothing is returned.”

Cullen visibly struggled for words for a moment, his jaw tight and the veins bulging in his neck. Bethany tried not to notice. “There is nothing to stop me from leaving now,” he said stiffly, obviously fighting the desire to shout.

She nodded politely. “Nothing at all, messere, save that you are completely naked and to walk through that door would very quickly expose you to several dozen sets of eyes. I am not sure that you would find that desirable, unless voyeurism and exhibitionism are to your tastes? We were not informed as such, but we can make arrangements for-”

“Nothing of the sort!” he snapped, blushing furiously. He pinched the bridge of his nose with the free hand that he’d tried to grab her with. 

Swallowing nervously, Bethany took advantage of the small silence. “Please, um, where are we?” she asked, cursing how her voice shook.

The woman smiled in her direction, and Bethany had to wonder if the blindfold was just for show- she certainly didn’t seem hindered by it at all. “Why, the Blooming Rose of course.” 

***

It was awkward, sitting and trying to drink tea with a naked Templar. Cullen had at least had the courtesy- or perhaps the modesty- to fetch one of the blankets from the bed and wrap it about his waist before sitting, but… still. His bare chest was very distracting. Bethany kept glancing up from her mug, gaze dancing slowly over ever scar and wondering how he’d come by it. Looking at every red mark on his skin and wondering how long her scratches would last. Fantasizing about whether or not any of them would last to take their place on the map of scars on his body. 

A lasting reminder of the few short hours he had been hers to claim and mark as she saw fit. 

She squirmed uncomfortably in the chair as the memories sent warmth flooding through her, and took a hasty sip of the tea. Cullen sat opposite, staring off into space, hardly aware of her. They’d nearly established some sort of consensus on what was to become of them, and how to treat this bizarre encounter and now it was out the window. Not that they had a window, she mused, sipping on the drink just for something to do with her hands. 

Anything was better than just sitting there fidgeting and waiting for him to acknowledge her again, as if she was some simpering wench desperate for his attention. She didn’t know quite what to do with her feet though, and really she was quite uncomfortable from having thought about their love making earlier, and shifting in the chair again to try and find a better position wasn’t helping at-

He slammed his hand down on the table, making all the silverware clang and Bethany jump. “Would you _stop that?_ ” 

She tried to hide how badly he’d startled her, taking a moment to take another mouthful; she hardly tasted it though, and she struggled to swallow. “Stop doing what, Knight Captain?” she said carefully, looking at him from beneath her lashes as she licked the last of the drink from her bottom lip. 

His nostrils flared, and his hands tightened on the arms of the chair. “Stop _moving,_ ” he said tersely. 

“I can’t just not move until they bring our clothes back, Knight Captain,” she said, blowing on the tea to cool it. “A rather strange request if I must say.”

“Bethany,” he growled, “we had an _agreement._ ”

With a boldness she wasn’t really sure she felt, she set the mug down and settled her hands in her lap; she almost regretted that she’d tucked the blanket so firmly around herself. “We agreed on nothing, Knight Captain,” she said, “least of all whether or not you had any right to command the movements of my body.”

His eyes darkened with heat, and she felt a corresponding rush in her blood. “Do not taunt me, woman,” he said quietly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, _Knight Captain,_ ” she said, putting far too much emphasis on his title, on the unspoken power he held over her no matter how much she wanted it to be otherwise. “But thinking you have any sort of dominion over me is a terrible shortcoming on your part.”

_Oh Maker, Bethany, what are you doing?_

It seemed to be her mantra today.

He was all but vibrating with tension, and her breath was coming in shallow puffs now; it was thrilling, and it shouldn’t be, because Maker what was she doing taunting a Templar in the first place? But this was Cullen, and he was as gentle as he was violent, as loving as he was angry, and she wanted her freedom but she wanted power too, and she wanted his hands on her no matter how badly she knew this would end. 

So when his control snapped and he snarled and lunged to his feet, pouncing at her with the desperation of a drowning man, she couldn’t help but laugh in delight. He cut her off with a kiss, but _by the Maker_ it felt good. 

It felt like freedom. 

***

On the upstairs balcony, Isabela signalled to the bar downstairs, sighing happily when her mad waving was acknowledged and a girl dispatched with a fresh tray. She sank back into the chair, kicking her feet up onto the table, as she turned to her companion.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think you had it in you,” she chuckled. “But, I stand corrected, and I tip my hat to you.”

“You don’t have a hat,” Aveline said wryly, altogether too smug. As the serving girl arrived she held out her mug for a refill.

Isabela sighed woefully. “I lost it with my ship,” she said dramatically, “but I’ve got my eye out for something flamboyant to replace it with.”

“Well, you won’t be buying it any time soon,” Aveline said. “Come on now- fair’s fair. I’ll be taking my money back now.”

With another melancholy sigh, Isabela reached into her ample bosom with a wink and withdrew a coin pouch. She tossed it across the table to her friend, taking a liberal swig from the wine bottle as Aveline stopped to count the gold within. “I have to ask though,” she said coyly, “what your secret is. I mean, with Garrett and Anders it was easy, because Anders did most of the work for us, but… I was expecting to have to provide a much more _hands on_ service for these two.”

Aveline rolled her eyes at her and tucked the pouch into her leathers- she was deliberately not wearing her uniform, not that she was exactly inconspicuous. “You disappoint me,” she said, “I would have thought it’d be obvious to someone with your _talents_.”

“Oh you frigid old cow, just spill already.”

Smiling despite the insult, she said “You’ve never been married to a Templar. You might have tumbled one or two-”

“Or seven,” Isabela supplied helpfully.

“Over the years,” Aveline continued, as if she hadn’t been interrupted at all. “But you’ve never gone home to one at the end of the day. And that, my dear trollop, makes all the difference.”

Isabela made a scoffing noise. “Oh, come off it, they aren’t in love, this was just to get them laid.”

Aveline took a quiet sip of her drink. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” she said softly, her eyes somewhere else. Then she straightened, and she smiled. “But it doesn’t matter, because I won my money back. Now we’re even.”

Her friend eyed her off. “Oh, we’re _far_ from even, my dear. Far from it.”


End file.
